


Silver Blue

by Graymalkyn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Friendship/Love, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 113,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graymalkyn/pseuds/Graymalkyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irina Hawke is Carver's younger sister. Her fear of magic is almost as strong as Fenris's hatred of it. Their differences are just an illusion, but their loneliness is real. Whether the obstacles to overcome are real or imaginary is something that they have to discover on their own... Though perhaps "together" is the key. 21-chapter story + epilogue. Updates on Thursdays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A message

"You could do it yourself, you know," the dwarf muttered as he finished getting dressed. "You seem to be strong enough, and that huge blade," he added, pointing to Fenris's broadsword, "would probably make them think twice before messing with you. I know it made  _me_  think twice…"

"I'd rather not make my presence felt until it's the right time," the elf replied, peeking into the street from behind the curtain. "Are you sure that they'll be there?"

"No, not really. This Meeran guy said that the one who was bound to take the job was a reliable guy, one of the Fereldan refugees living in this…  _lovely_  part of the city," Anso said with contempt.

Fenris smirked. "I'd never have thought that a dwarf would dislike this part of Kirkwall. The buildings are tall enough to make you feel like you're underground."

"Yes, but that bloody sky's always up there," the dwarf shuddered. "I still think I'm going to fall into it one of these days."

"If I were you, I'd be more wary of it falling on top of us, not the other way about," Fenris said seriously. His quip caused the effect he had aimed at: the dwarf's lyrium-blue eyes opened wide, and he muttered something like  _'Paragons protect us'._ "Right now you should have other concerns, Anso. Let's hope that these mercenaries don't slit your throat when they realize that this is simple subterfuge."

The dwarf swallowed hard. "Y-You'll be around, won't you? Just… Just in case?"

Fenris looked out of the window again. "I'll be around, yes."

* * *

"Are you the one who sent this message?"

Anso's startled face made the woman giggle. He looked at her. Exotic and appealing for a human. All the curves in the right place, and the barely-covered dark skin kissed by the sun… Perhaps being on the surface wasn't going to be so bad, if he could feast his eyes on women like her.

The unamused face of an impossibly tall human blocked the dwarf's view. "I asked a question, little man," the young man said in a low voice.

"I sure hope you don't call  _me_  'little man' when I'm not around, Big Boy," another voice grunted behind the tall man.

 _Another dwarf, thank the Ancestors!_  Anso hurried to explain. "Yes! Well, no… You see, I talked to this man Meeran and he promised to find me some suitable people for the job, so  _he_ sent the message, I suppose?" He looked at the group in front of him. They seemed capable enough. The tall man's arms were impressive; muscular and lean, the human looked like the leader.

"Fair enough," the man said, as he extended his hand. "My name's Carver. These are my associates, Varric and Isabela. Should I take somebody else along for this job?"

"The three of you will do," Anso replied, his eyes darting from the dwarf to the exotic woman. "It's… You need to recover a shipment from a house in the alienage. It's the house marked with this symbol." He showed them a piece of parchment with a creature that looked like a deer on it.

"Three people to recover a shipment? How heavy is it?" Varric sneered.

"It's not about the weight I'm concerned about," Isabela said, raising an eyebrow. "It's the 'recovery' part. What will we find there?"

 _Shit,_  Anso thought.  _The bloody elf didn't pay me enough to improvise._  He cleared his throat and ventured, "Possibly a group of smugglers?"

"I thought so," Isabela sighed.

Anso breathed out, relieved to see that he had chosen the right answer. "Will you do it, then? Or should I ask Meeran to find someone else?"

"Oh, we  _will_ do it, as long as you pay up front," Carver said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Anso managed to suppress a grunt and gave him a sovereign.

"The other one… You'll get it when you return," he said.

* * *

"Wait a minute… This was all a set-up?" Carver's blue eyes looked furious in the moonlight. "Why would you do that?"

"Would you have helped me if  _I_  had shown up in that alley, instead of Anso?" Fenris asked.

"I know  _I_ would have," Isabela purred, sizing Fenris up with her amber eyes. The elf blushed.

"Why not, elf?" Varric said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Anything was better than getting us killed over nothing!"

Fenris let out a deep breath. "I apologize. I haven't met many people I could trust. Anso agreed to be my contact and I thought it was better to let him deal with this. Besides, I doubt many sane people would be willing to help if I mentioned that I'm being hunted by a Tevinter magister."

"A mage?" Carver frowned.

"More than that. Magisters are powerful in ways that mages are not, and they won't hesitate to resort to blood magic if the need arises…" Fenris felt his disgust increase at the mere thought of the ways of his Master. Was he ready to confront Danarius, once and for all? He was so tired of hiding… Even if he got killed… At least it would give him the freedom that he'd yearned for since they'd last met. "Not just a mage, but my… My owner," he grunted as he knelt down next to the body of the man he'd just killed to see if he had any information. He found a note and gave it to Varric, in an almost dismissive way.

"What's this?" the dwarf muttered. "Ooh, Hightown… I know this place. Your master must be a rich man."

"He's certainly got piles of gold smeared with the blood of his slaves," Fenris murmured, thankful that the dwarf hadn't questioned why he hadn't read the note himself.

"We will help," Isabela nodded.

"Hold on." Carver's hesitation was palpable, even before he'd opened his mouth. "What will we find there? This man must have guards. Can we take him on, on our own? Maybe we should talk to Aveline…"

"Awww… Are you afraid of a good challenge,  _little man?"_  Varric mocked.

"Expect dirty magical traps. Look, I…" Fenris breathed in. "I'm in no position to offer you some great reward for this, but if we survive, whatever we find in the house can be yours." He looked at the party of three, whose eyes had never parted from him. "Can I… Can I count on you?"

Carver seemed to consider something. After a moment that felt like an eternity to Fenris, he nodded. "We'll meet you there." As soon as he'd said this, the elf dashed up the stairs, away from the alienage and into the night.

"He could have at least said 'thank you'," Varric grumbled.

"If we come out of this alive, I'll let him thank me for this in oh so many ways," Isabela grinned in anticipation, making her two companions groan and roll their eyes. "So, what will it be? Will you ask Manhands to come with us?"

"If Aveline hears you calling her like that, she'll deep-throat you with that sword of hers," Varric observed, checking the number of bolts he had left.

"No, not Aveline," Carver said slowly. "My sister."

* * *

Hiding again. Would that ever end? Sometimes he wondered if other slaves felt the same way he did. The ones he had met had never expressed such desire. But slaves didn't often talk about freedom. Fenris thought they didn't even want to think about it, for fear that their Masters would read their minds.

He watched the house for movement, but it looked quiet, except for a dim light in one of the rooms upstairs. He could smell the trap from where he was, and he knew that if he went in alone, he wouldn't make it to the dimly-lit chamber. Still, he couldn't blame the others if they decided not to help him out…

"There you are," Carver murmured. "I was starting to think that you'd leave us on our own."

As Fenris got closer, he saw a fourth person in the party. "Who's this?" he asked, mistrustfully.

"This is my sister, Irina," Carver introduced her. The young woman looked up at Fenris but she didn't smile or say a word. She was obviously younger than Carver, and standing next to her brother, she looked insignificant.

"She doesn't look like she can handle this," Fenris arched an eyebrow.

Irina looked at her brother uncomfortably. "Carver…" she mumbled.

"It's alright. Irya is more useful than she looks, trust me." He took a look at the manor. "Is that it?" he asked Fenris, who nodded. "Irya? What do you think?"

Irina walked to the manor. Fenris cast a nervous glance at Carver, whose eyes followed his sister's petite body. She stood there for a long minute and when she was ready, she turned to her brother.

"There's nobody there," she said in a calm tone.

"What do you mean?" Fenris growled. "He _has_  to be there!" His anger made him dash past the little woman and he kicked the door open. "Danarius!" he shouted. "Can you hear me?! I'm coming after you!"

* * *

They were more skilled than he'd thought. The pirate woman was fast and she was not afraid of the Shades that threatened to rip them apart. The dwarf had got him out of trouble with more than one shot of his strange contraption, and the human's physique was a great advantage – his blows were unerring and powerful, and Fenris felt comfortable around him, as if he was back among the Fog Warriors.

The little woman, however… It was a mystery how she could lift that spear of hers. It was a strange weapon; the blunt side was covered with what seemed to be some kind of clay, but the sharp side… He'd seen her protect herself rather effectively against a group of Shades using that pointy end.

But then the Demon had emerged, and she had screamed. Fenris was used to seeing those beings – Danarius always kept him around when he experimented on the weaker mages, trying to merge them with the foul spirits and turn them into abominations that he'd be able to control. This demon looked no different. He took a quick look at her brother, but Carver and Isabela were dealing with another entity, and Varric was keeping some other things at bay. He grunted and lunged forward, but before his sword could go through the monster, it disappeared.

"Where'd it go?" he yelled at a scared Irina, who was shaking from head to toes. Her cowl had fallen off and he saw her terrified eyes looking past him. He turned around just in time to avoid the Demon's grasp, but he fell on his back while doing so. The Demon raised its fiery clutch and Fenris braced himself against the blow, but a sparkle behind him caught his attention.

Irina's left hand was enveloped in a sphere of sparks that tugged at his very core. He felt his markings glow in resonance with her spirit energy, and he saw her imprison the Demon in that light. Soon, her brother and his companions were at it, and Fenris got back on his feet, watching her cast her spell and become more and more potent by the second...

* * *

"She's a witch," Fenris spat. "And you brought her to a place infested with demons. It could have turned out very badly," he scowled at her. She flinched and stood at the back near Isabela. As she put the cowl back on, Fenris saw her blinking away some tears.

"Hey, you watch what you say!" Carver grunted. "This is my sister you're talking about!"

Fenris breathed in and out slowly. "I'm sorry. I do not wish to appear ungrateful, but–" He looked at Irina. "I apologize."

Irina shook her head. "I understand," she just said, and then she turned to her brother. "Can we go home now?" Carver nodded. He'd already taken what he'd found in the mansion and there was nothing else that Fenris could offer him.

"Stay safe," Carver said seriously. He took his sister's hand in his and started to go down the steps towards the Chantry district, when Fenris's voice called after him.

"Wait!" the elf said. He stood there self-consciously; being observed by several pairs of eyes reminded him of the times when he'd been paraded for the bloody magisters. He cleared his throat. "If there's something I can… If you ever need help with this 'mercenary' business… I'm available."

"The man you were after is not here," Varric said. "Why would you stay?"

Fenris looked at them for a while and snorted. All of them were actually waiting for an answer. He sighed discreetly.

"I have nowhere else to go," he admitted.

In the moonlight, he saw the four of them standing together, in unity. He felt a little envious and wondered if he'd ever find a place in a group with others. He'd had it once, and he'd lost it.

"Meet me at the Hanged Man tomorrow, elf," Varric said. "We'll see what we can do."  
Fenris nodded but remained silent.

As the party walked away, Varric grunted, "I didn't hear a 'thank you' either, this time."

"Do you do things so that people thank you, Varric?" Isabela chuckled.

"No, but it's nice to hear that every now and then," the dwarf said, bobbing his head.

"I don't think he's used to saying it," Irina muttered.

"What did you say, dolly?" Isabela asked, looking back at her mousy companion.

But Irina shook her head and remained silent. As she held onto her brother's arm, she looked back one more time, only to see the elf still standing at the top of the stairs, alone in the moonlight.

...


	2. I don't know

_"How do you do it?"_   
_"Do what, darling?" Bethany raised her amber eyes from the sheets she was embroidering and smiled at her little sister._   
_"You and Father. You're never afraid of this… This magic."_   
_Bethany shrugged. "I don't know, Irya. To me, it's a natural thing, like breathing."_   
_"It hurts me," Irina said. "Casting a spell… I feel it. It's like bleeding to death."_

* * *

Irina opened her eyes. Her mother was snoring lightly on the lower bunk bed. She wished she could sleep all night long as well. Her dreams always troubled her, reminding her of the life she'd once known, and how lonely it was for her now. Neither her father nor her older sister were there, and Carver and Leandra had no idea how it felt for her.

Her older sister had been so talented… Bethany had been their father's favourite child, the one that had embraced the gift of magic and had never feared it. In her dreams, Irina could still see her, bold and beautiful, her thick black hair –the Hawke trait that she lacked, looking more like an Amell instead– flowing in the breeze that she could summon in those long hot days in Lothering.

They had all been there when Bethany married her beloved farmer, the only man she'd ever know and the one who would be proud of what she was. They'd been happy for a year, until she had got pregnant. Irina had been there when Bethany had died, their father having perished only one month before. An ill-fated delivery had cost her sister her life, and her husband had begged Irina to burn her body and that of the baby's, according to her sister's wishes.

 _Can't you do it?_  She'd wanted to say the words badly, but Bethany's husband was in such a state of grief that resistance seemed selfish. He'd wept when he laid her body to rest over a bed of hay, her arms holding the little bundle that was her baby on her chest. He'd covered her with the sheets that her sister had made for their wedding, and he'd waited.

 _Can't_ you _do it?_  The words had come up to her lips this time. How she had wanted to scream, to cry; to be the one lying dead there instead of Bethany, her fearless sister. She'd held her breath and raised her hands. She'd felt it coming to her the same way as it always came – needles rushing down her veins, tearing her apart from the inside, digging deeper and deeper into her. The fire had revealed itself, purple and orange, and the flames had licked the bodies, consuming them. Irina's eyes had been shut tight, but she could still feel. She could still smell.

* * *

Seeing the crates with the Aggregio Pavali filled Fenris with rage. For a moment, he stood there and considered shattering every single one of them, pretending that they were all the bloody magisters that he had ever known. If he closed his eyes, their faces would go back to him. He didn't want to remember, and yet…

There was nothing there at the back of his mind. Nothing to go back to; nothing that could lend him strength in a moment of need. The only survival he was fighting for now was his own. He thought of Carver, leading his little sister around. Was she worth all the fighting? She was nothing but a witch. Carver was talented – no doubt the Templars would take him. Why he was still squatting in Lowtown was something that Fenris could not comprehend.

He took one of the bottles, holding it in his hands as if it was a weapon. He laughed when he remembered all the times that he had thought of smashing one of those on Danarius's head.

 _"Not from the bottle, you little beast,"_  he said out loud in a mocking tone.  _"Let it breeeathe, Fenris."_  He threw the bottle at the far end of the room, enjoying the sound of the broken glass. He listened. Nobody had come for him. He wouldn't have to kneel down and pick the pieces with his mouth. Not anymore.

The smell of the wine got to him – bittersweet and dense. Images went through his head: the elves working in the kitchen of the mansion; the feeling that they were afraid of him, as if he was one of the mages himself… He didn't know who or what he was. A slave, at that point. Just like them. But at the same time, something else. A pet. A tool. An asset. Danarius's meal. The magister had fed off him, draining him the way that witch had done it that night.

He looked at his markings. He was mages' food. That was his role.

Fenris took another bottle. Still Aggregio Pavali. That accursed wine seemed to follow him wherever he went. Perhaps it was a sign. At least he didn't have to pour it for anybody else any longer.

He opened it and smelled it.  _Let it breathe, Fenris._  The words came back to him and he felt his upper lip stiffening in disgust. He took a swig and let it rest in his mouth for a while. When he swallowed, he couldn't help gagging at the burning sensation. The pain was always there, reminding him that he was still alive.

He wondered if the wine would bring back more memories, or if it would help him forget. He didn't know what he wanted. Both. Neither. Everything. Nothing. He wanted to survive, but he also wanted to cease to be. He wanted to confront Danarius, but to do so, he had run away. He laughed bitterly at his existence as he took two more bottles from the crate and trudged up the stairs.

* * *

"We can wait until he comes out," Leandra suggested. They were standing outside the Lowtown tavern, hoping to get a glimpse of Carver. He hadn't returned home the previous night.

Irina looked around surreptitiously. Even in broad daylight, there was a chance that Templars would spot her. "Maybe he's outside the city?" she ventured, but her mother shook her head.

"Nonsense. He'd let us know. He always does. Maybe I should go in," Leandra muttered.

"We could send Gamlen in?"

"I'm sure your uncle's already at that brothel in Hightown at this time of the day."

Irina was about to reply when she caught sight of a lanky figure that was staggering towards the tavern. He was unmistakable. Leaving aside the fact that he was an elf out of the alienage and that his garments were unusual -to say the least-, there was the question of his markings. They looked white in the sunlight, while they were silver in the moonlight, and blue when he…

 _Should I say something,_  she wondered.  _Will he know who I am?_  She saw him walk past them, barely aware of her presence. "Fenris," she called out timidly.

His eyes turned to her. A sour smell of wine and vomit got to her and she had to make an effort not to gag. "I know you?" he grunted.

"I…" She didn't expect him to remember her much, but apparently he hadn't acknowledged her at all. "I was wondering if you could tell Carver to come out?"

Fenris frowned for a while, but then his eyes focused. "You're the wi… The sister."

"That's me, yes." She was eager to finish the conversation, especially since she felt Leandra disapproving of the company they seemed to keep. "If you are going in, can you tell my brother to come out? Just for a moment?"

He squinted. "Why don't you go in your-yourself?" He hiccuped, and a wave of acrid smell hit her. "There are no Temp-Templars in there…" He pushed the door open and went in.

Irina looked at her mother, who was shaking her head. "Carver's not like that, mother," the young woman said softly.

"I hope not," Leandra sighed. "Your father and I… We taught him better than hanging out with people like this. I really don't want to get involved in your brother's affairs." She took the basket from Irina's hands and started walking back to the house. "Tell him to come soon, or that next time he should let us know that he's alive, at least."

Irina stared at the open door that led to the dark tavern. She'd never dared go in. It was her brother's haven. She closed the door behind her and stepped in the main hall. It wasn't so terrible. There were a couple of barmaids doing the rounds and being ogled by some of the customers, but it didn't feel like the den of iniquity that she'd thought it would be.

"Not bad," a voice said behind her. She turned to see a man looking at her behind. "You new here?" She took a few steps back and hit the table behind her, getting a wave of sniggering from the men sitting at it.

"Wanna drink with us, sweetheart?" they laughed. "We can get a room and–"

"I'm sorry, I… I'm looking for my brother," she said weakly. She looked around and saw Fenris watching her from the bar, a glass on his lips.

"I don't know your brother, but I can show you a little friend you can play with," one of the men sneered and he reached out for her. Irina stepped back just in time to avoid his touch.

"Hey. Leave her alone."

His gravelly voice sent a jolt along her spine. There wasn't a trace of drunkenness in his tone. Irina wondered if he'd just pretended not to recognize her.

"Or else what, elf?" the man said, standing up. He was a few inches taller than Fenris. Both men stared at each other, and Irina became aware of how silent the tavern seemed to have gotten.

"What's going on here?" Varric asked, coming down the stairs. "I come down for a drink and this is tomb-quiet." The dwarf sauntered towards them, munching on a piece of cheese. "Fenris, Irina," he greeted them.

"Friend of yours, Varric?" the tall man asked.

"Eh." Varric shrugged. "More like family. Can't shake them off, it seems." He took Irina by the arm and beckoned Fenris to follow them upstairs. "What are you doing here, Irina? You should have let me know you were coming."

"I was looking for Carver," she mumbled. "He didn't come home last night, and my mother–"

"He didn't?" Suddenly Varric seemed to have woken up. "That's odd; it was supposed to be an easy job. Don't worry: bad news travels fast, so I'm guessing he's still alive. He was going there with Aveline and Isabela, so I'll wager he's got his back covered." He took a look at Irina's face. "Not convinced, princess? Well, let me get Bianca and let's head for Darktown, shall we?" He turned to Fenris and sniffed the air. "You've had one too many again, haven't you."

"I'm not that drunk," the elf grunted. "Why Darktown?"

"Because I sent him to a possible contact there, for the expedition, you know. Speaking of which, are you in or not? Have you made your choice?"

Fenris shrugged. "The money wouldn't be bad. And I have the time, so…"

"Well then… Whatever you can carry. No percentages unless you're a partner."

"It's a deal, then," Fenris nodded. He stretched and yawned. "Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" Varric said, grabbing Bianca and heading out.

"Go to… Darktown?" Fenris asked, confused.

"Oh, you don't need to come. I'm just walking Irina there to see if Carver's around.

"Ah, right." Fenris stood there, looking around awkwardly. "Well, I'll wait for you to return," he said in a low voice. Irina followed Varric downstairs. Carver had always forbidden her to go to Darktown – not that she needed to go, but when they had worked for the Red Iron, he insisted that she stayed behind during jobs that took place there. She stopped walking and looked back hesitantly.

"What is it, princess?" Varric asked.

Irina dashed up the stairs and went back to Varric's room. Fenris was looking at a diary that was lying on the table, which seemed to contain drawings of the group.

"F-Fenris?" she called softly. The elf raised his eyes and waited. "I don't have my… I wasn't ready to… Would you mind…? Coming with us? To… Darktown. Just in case."

Fenris appeared to weigh her up for a brief moment. He stood up and picked up his sword. "Sure," he muttered.

The walk there was not long, but it certainly was a quiet one. Irina made no attempt to start or keep a conversation with her partners, and Fenris seemed to be more concerned about remembering the way back. Varric grumbled, wishing that Carver and Isabela were there.

Darktown wasn't as dark as Fenris and Irina had imagined, but it was certainly more rancid. Whoever had designed that part of the city, at least they had made sure that the sewers were in areas that were not appealing to people.

As they approached their destination, Irina caught sight of the gigantic statues that had seen them arrive over a year before. She leaned against the handrail and breathed in – the first fresh puff of air since they'd come down.

"Kirkwall reeks of wicked history." Fenris's voice took her by surprise. He'd maintained a certain distance all along the way. Irina cast a quick glance at him. His eyes were set on the statues. "The Twins," he muttered. "A statement of the powerful and the oppressed of the 'Free' Marches. I'd heard of their chains, used to block and extort merchants. Only a city like this could make the chains functional. Not even the statues of slaves can get a break."

Irina watched the vessels rolling in and away. "My brother says you were a slave once," she said quietly. "In Tevinter."

"That I was," Fenris nodded.

"He said your master was a magister, and that's why you hate mages."

Fenris was silent for a while. "Magisters delve in blood magic, and they never hesitate to sacrifice their servants in exchange for a bit of power. Should I not hate them?"

Irina lowered her eyes. "I understand your hatred."

"I cannot imagine that. You're a mage. If someone like you sympathized with the oppressed in Tevinter, you'd soon find yourself the fodder of those who sought to maintain their power."

Irina's hands rubbed her naked arms. "It's colder now." She turned to Varric, who had been watching them silently.

"Come. We're close now."

The lantern was lit, signaling that they were allowed to go in. As soon as they opened the door, they saw Isabela sitting next to Carver, whose eyes were closed. Irina ran towards her brother.

"He's fine now. He needs to sleep. He had a rough night," Isabela said gently. "Anders here healed him. He had a run-in with one of those damned mage-hunters – got stabbed in the back. If Anders hadn't been there…"

Irina looked up. There was a dark-blond man watching her. "You must be Irina," he said kindly. "Your brother told me about you. In fact, you're the main reason he helped me out last night." He extended his hand. "I'm Anders."

"Wonderful. Another mage," Fenris scoffed.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "And he recognizes mages. Smarter than most Templars. And you are…?"

"My name is Fenris," the warrior replied.

"Ah. Carver mentioned you. Are you going to the Deep Roads expedition as well?"

"He's just decided to join us," Varric interceded. "Did you find the person you were looking for, Blondie?"

The mage shook his head. "No, we… We were too late." He was evidently upset, and Varric didn't want to pursue the questioning. He knew that Carver or Isabela would tell him all about it later on.

Anders turned to Irina. "Your brother says that you could do with some training, and he's agreed to let me be your mentor, if that's fine with you."

Irina's grey eyes detached from her sleeping brother and landed on the mage. "I don't know. So far I've been doing well."

"He says you've been avoiding your magic like the plague," Anders smiled in a friendly way.

"I don't think I need it, to be honest," Irina shrugged nervously. Anders sat down in front of her and watched her intently. His amber eyes tried to read her, and she grew visibly uncomfortable with every second that went by.

"You know that he'll be gone for some time. It's necessary for you to at least learn to protect yourself effectively."

"She said no," Fenris grunted. "Don't push her." He didn't know what had led him to speak in such a manner, but it was obvious that something had rubbed him off the wrong way. Or perhaps it had been the night of drinking and the subsequent morning. The hangover had started setting in, and he felt as if his head had been kicked a thousand times.

Irina looked at him and then back at Anders. She seemed to be struggling with something. Her eyes gazed at her brother and she stroked his cheek. Carver barely moved. She looked back at Fenris and for the first time, she smiled. It was a simple smile, the kind that wasn't meant to convey mirth, but to show that she had listened.

"It will be fine," she told Fenris.

He found himself wanting to believe her.

...


	3. Arms

Carver recovered quickly. Back in the Royal Army, he'd been hit worse, but he'd also been more careful. Having escaped from Ostagar unscathed had made him overconfident, which was why Aveline had challenged his petition to become a city guard once they had settled down in Kirkwall.

"I would only do it so that your family stopped worrying about you," she'd told him. "But I know you. Even in the army you found trouble more often than not. A troublemaker as a city guard could get court-martialled. I'd rather take my chances and trust you'll survive in the streets. Your family deserves to be spared the shame of dishonour. Do what you must, and I'll look away, for the moment." Had he been younger and brasher, Carver would have resented her. But after Malcolm's death, he'd had to be the head of the family, and that had made him reconsider his priorities. Having met Varric had also been beneficial to him. Even Aveline approved of the dwarf and considered him to be a good influence, though she'd never admit it openly.

They'd had a full life as a family in Kirkwall, but the memories did not hold him back. At the moment, Leandra and Irina were all that mattered to him. After the first awkward stage of living with Gamlen, Carver had worried that they'd have a hard time sitting in that house all day long. But mother and daughter had started darning clothes for a living, and Irina occasionally sold colourful quilts made from snippets of fabric that he found for her around the city. They had become rather popular with the people of Lowtown – they cheered up the gloomy hovels they usually lived in.

As he opened his eyes that morning, he found his sister looking at an item of clothing rather intently. He rested on one arm and rubbed his eyes. "What caught your attention?" he said, yawning.

Irina was startled. "I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" She walked over and kissed her brother on the forehead. "Gamlen brought some cheese and Mother baked an apple pie. There's some ale, I think. I'll go and ready it for when you get up."

When she'd left the room, Carver sat up and stretched. As he looked for his shirt, he caught sight of the garments that Irina had been gazing at. A lavender-coloured silk robe, rich and luxurious, with naked shoulders and some kind of golden embroidery around the edges. The front seemed to have been torn. Undoubtedly, it was one of the many things that she had to mend.

"Nice clothes," Carver murmured as he sat at the table, where his breakfast had been laid.

"Oh… Yes, I suppose so," Irina said, blushing.

"What's with the apple cheeks?" her brother teased her. "Do you like it?"

"I do, a little… But Uncle brought it over to be fixed."

"Gamlen? What would he be doing with–?" Carver stopped talking and left his knife on the plate. "Where did he get it?"

"At the Blooming Rose." Irina's face was flushed, and her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her apron. "Don't get mad; we… sometimes get work from them. He brings it our way. We don't mind, really. It gives us something to do." She managed to smile.

Carver laughed. "Gamlen's a dog. But I suppose that as long as they come clean…"

"Maker yes, they do! And they're quite fetching, aren't they?"

Carver looked at his sister. There was a longing look in her silver eyes that he knew quite well. It had always been that way – the girl who wanted things but never said anything about it. "When I come back from the Deep Roads," he said, "I'll bring you a much better robe, just for you. No more hand-me-downs, Irya. I promise."

Irina smiled and shook her head. "All I want is to have you back as soon as possible."

"I'm a little hesitant to leave you alone here, to be honest," Carver said, resuming his meal. "Asking you to stay home until I return is not an option, is it? I really don't know how long we'll be down there. Isabela and Aveline have promised me they'd come to check on you as often as they could, but still…"

"I'll be fine," she reassured him.

"When are you starting your lessons with Anders?"

Irina rubbed her arms the way she always did when she felt uncertain. "We were waiting for you to get better. I didn't want to bother Varric by asking him to take me there…"

"You could have talked to Fenris," her brother pointed out.

She shook her head. "I don't think Fenris would be very interested in sitting in on my training sessions. I think it would drain him." When she noticed her brother's eyes on her, she hurried to explain. "His powers, I mean. He might… resonate, like he did with me that night. Besides, I wouldn't want to feed on him. The lyrium. Not  _him._  You understood, didn't you?"

Carver laughed, much to her embarrassment.

* * *

"So tell me, elf…" Varric started, resting his feet on the table. "How can we turn that talent of yours into something useful?"

"My… talent?" Fenris sounded genuinely confused.

"That glow you seem to have sometimes… Well, I only saw it the first day. You know, when little Irina saved your ass from that demon?" He popped a grape into his mouth and smiled.

"That's the lyrium I told you about."

"All from the tats, right? Impressive."

"To you, perhaps. But I don't think you'd say the same if I stripped your skin off your flesh."

Varric shuddered. "Feels that bad, huh?"

"That bad indeed," Fenris nodded. "Why did you want to know?"

"Well, I noticed that little Irina displayed an interesting amount of power with you there. Before that day, she'd only cast the occasional bolt. And I was wondering if you two would be interested in working together, you know? We could get bigger clients and everything…"

"You want me to be her lyrium source?" Fenris grunted.

"When you put it that way, it makes me feel like a slaver." Varric scratched his head. "I mean, I can't ask Anders to come with us in broad daylight."

"Because he's an apostate," Fenris sentenced.

"If it was just that, I wouldn't mind. Irina is one as well, and so far I haven't had any trouble with apostates – or with templars, for that matter. I'd kinda like to keep it that way. But the problem with Blondie's a  _little_  more serious than that." He reached out and grabbed his ale, nursing it in silence. Fenris raised his eyebrows and waited. Varric glanced at him and then he glanced away, looking like a guilty dog.

 _"Varric…"_  the elf muttered.

"What? I'm no gossip…" He drummed his fingers on the sides of the tankard. "Okay, I'll tell you, but if anybody asks, I'll tell them you threatened me with that lyrium fist of yours." He lowered his feet and moved his chair closer to Fenris's. "Isabela told me that when they found that friend of his, the mage that they were supposed to take away from the Circle, he'd been made Tranquil. Blondie totally lost it… Rivaini says that he started glowing blue, pretty much like you, and that he got rid of four hunters by himself. Can you believe it? And he's supposed to be a healer… Anyway, she asked him about it… Turns out the guy is hosting-"

"A  _demon?"_  Fenris asked, trying to hold back his disgust.

"Even better: a spirit of Justice," Varric murmured.

Fenris snorted. "Now I know why there wasn't such a thing in Tevinter. The mage was hoarding it here." He noticed that Varric wasn't smiling. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. You can always ask him yourself. Sounds like an interesting fellow... He was in Ferelden until recently. One of them Wardens, y'know…"

"A  _Grey_ Warden?" Fenris blinked. Varric nodded.

"I bet he's got some juicy stories to share," Varric said, rubbing his hands together. "And he's already given us to maps with the entry points to the Deep Roads. So… I'm really hoping you won't mind hanging around with a spirit. Kinda."

"An abomination, you mean," Fenris said adamantly. "Though there might be some merit to him, if the Wardens accepted him."

"Aw, come on… He's not that bad. He's rather generous, considering–"

"–that he'll train Irina?" Fenris finished the sentence. He bit his lower lip. "I doubt Carver knows about this. I don't think he'd send her to a monster." He stood up and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Should we warn him?"

"Calm down, will you? You're supposed to act cool, you know? Like you don't know any of this. Remember: you didn't hear it from me. I told you; it's already hard for Anders to be hanging out with us in public. If you go around crying  _'Abomination!'_ well… Who knows what could happen to him? At least he's doing something good for all those poor refugees, healing them without charging them a copper…"

* * *

"Fear not, messere. You're leaving her in good hands," Anders smiled.

"It's not the hands that I'm concerned," Carver said seriously. "If you lay one on her, I'll cut it off–"

"Carver!" Irina said, embarrassed.

"As a man, I mean. As a healer, you're more than welcome to treat her," he finished. He was standing behind his sister, holding her from behind. His arms were warm and protective, and Irina had always felt that nothing bad could happen to her as long as he was there. But that was the reason why he'd wanted her to train with Anders.

_"I could be away for a long time, Irya. And even if I wasn't going on this expedition… The kind of life I lead… You might not have me around forever."  
_ _She had shaken her head and embraced him, but she had remained silent.  
_ _"What if...?" Carver had hesitated. "Would it be too crazy if you were to come with me? If Anders taught you the spells you need for that kind of place?"_ __  


"I haven't told her about your thing, though. You might want to start with that," Carver suggested.

Anders's eyes went from Irina to him. "Are you sure?" He saw the young man nod. "Well… This is rather awkward. How can I put this? Er… You see, when I was in Amaranthine…" His calm voice told her of how he'd met Justice and how the spirit had helped him see the fear and unfairness that mages were subjected to on a daily basis. Irina's eyes stared at Anders, glad to have her brother's arms still around her. She was aware that her fingers were gripping his forearms, but there was no horror or repulsion in her actions. She recognized the feeling as fascination.

Standing in front of her, there was a mage had been possessed, but who still looked like a man. Yes, the fusion had been a willing one. He'd accepted to be a host, but in doing so, he'd rejected a life for himself. Was this the kind of person who would understand what it felt like to have a death wish, just like the one she had had upon Bethany's death?

At some point she became aware that Anders had stopped talking. He felt Carver's nose nuzzling the top of her head and she looked back at the mage.

"I don't know if you haven't run away because your brother is holding you or because you're still thinking about it," Anders smiled sadly.

"Oh!" Irina said. "Well… I'm… You seem to have… I'm not sure I could… I'm mumbling, aren't I? I'm sorry…"

"It's alright. It's quite adorable. In a strictly objective way, I assure you," he said to Carver, who was frowning.

Irina looked back at her brother. "Do you want him to train me because he's not afraid of his magic?"

"Not only that, Irya. Anders is an example of the dangers of magic. You know that well; I certainly hope you haven't forgotten. Remember when Bethany–?"

"I remember," Irina murmured. The image of his sister being haunted by a demon, and their father running towards her, staff in hand, and flames surrounding his arms… He had not cared about other people seeing him, or hearing the words of power. He'd jumped head-first to save her, because he was fearless. He'd escaped the Circle, because he was fearless. Bethany had had the same nature.

"Listen to me," Carver said, raising her chin and making her look at him. "Whether you decide to come with me or stay behind... I want to know that you can control this. I don't want you to hold back what you are anymore. You can't live in fear or in pain. Anders... He says that the pain has to do with the lyrium…"

"Your body never received it," Anders explained. "Your brother says that you weren't able to afford it, and that when you could, you let  _them_  have it, your father and sister. That's not good for a mage. Granted, some mages resort to other methods to palliate the effects of this deprivation, but... I'd rather not discuss that for the moment. The thing is that, as time goes by, your body begins to resent this deficiency, and starts affecting your blood. But don't worry, it's not irreversible. I wouldn't suggest taking lyrium right away. In the meantime, there are some herb–" He froze mid-sentence.

Irina was watching his eyes, which had now turned blue. The gentle man that had been talking to her up to that moment had been replaced by a stranger, who was holding his staff in an offensive position, watching the door.

"Is somebody at the door?" Carver asked in a hushed tone. "Templars?" He moved his hand over the knife hanging from his cinch. But Irina placed a hand on his arm and closed her eyes, sensing… The only magic that she had allowed herself to use freely, because it was the only thing that she could do for her family, especially during the years of persecution.

She opened her eyes and frowned in disbelief. "It's… It's Fenris…" She turned to Anders and before she could think about it, she placed a hand on his arm gently. "It's Fenris. You met him the other day." To her surprise, Anders –or perhaps Justice– subsided.

"Come in, Fenris!" Carver shouted. The door opened and the elf walked in, an air of mistrust and bewilderment painted in his face. Of course, there were mages there. How could they not know that he was behind the door? They had probably felt the lyrium carved in his flesh. And then he remembered: Irina had known that Danarius was long gone from the mansion, even before going in. How come he hadn't seen what she was back then?

"You're hurt," Irina mumured. Fenris looked at the blood on his clothes.

"I think it's someone else's blood. Some louts I found at the south entrance," he said dismissively.

Anders approached the elf and reached out for his arm. Fenris instinctively moved backwards.

"It'll only be a minute," the mage said calmly. Fenris felt Irina's eyes on him and presented Anders with the arm. It was a superficial cut, and it wasn't even bleeding much. Anders's palm glowed for a few seconds and then the mage turned away from him. "There. It should give you a minor itch, but it's temporary."

"So, what brings you to Darktown?" Carver asked him, once the wound had been addressed.

"What brings me to Darktown?" he repeated. He hadn't really expected to be caught red-handed like that. "Varric… He mentioned that you'd be here, and I wanted to ask you if you had a job for me."

"You know Varric's the one that usually handles that," Carver said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fenris grew even more self-conscious. "Yes, well… You see, I might be leaving Kirkwall soon…"

"You're going away?" Irina's voice was fresh and calm, like a pond. So were her grey eyes, which were looking at him with a mixture of surprise and something else that he couldn't identify, but he hoped it wasn't pity.

"Just for a couple of days," he muttered. Of course he wouldn't be going anywhere. He would probably lock himself up in that mansion he'd claimed for himself and remain in one of the rooms for the following days, banging his head against the wall for acting like an idiot.

"Ah well. I hope you return soon," Carver nodded.

"Please, keep safe," Irina added with a timid smile.

Fenris breathed in deeply and cleared his throat. "I will. I'm not that careless." He turned around to leave when Carver called him again.

"Wait! Let me ask… Anders, do you need something done?"

Anders watched the elf. "Now that you mention it, Carver, yes… I've got some poultices to be taken to the Blooming Rose."

"No way I'm going anywhere near that place," Fenris muttered.

"Ah. Well, that's a shame," Anders said, cocking his head. "Irina, could you take them for me? They're all marked with names. Since I need the flasks, I'll ask you to wait until they've ingested their contents, and return with the empty vials."

"You're not sending her to that place on her own, are you?" Fenris exclaimed, raising his eyebrows.

"Irina already works for the Rose," her brother shrugged lightly, a glint of malice in his eyes. Fenris gaped at him in disbelief, but he grunted when he heard Carver laugh. "She  _sews_  for the Rose. Do you really think I'd let her be one of the girls?"

"I, no... No, I suppose not," Fenris muttered, feeling like a fool.

"Well, so… Who's going?" Anders asked.

"I'll escort her to the Rose," Fenris said, walking over to the table and carrying the box in his arms. "Shall we?" he asked Irina, without looking at her.

"I'll walk up to the steps with you, and then I'm off to see Aveline," Carver said. They waited for her to put her cowl back on and say goodbye to Anders.

"So what do you think?" Carver asked her. "Can you do this? For me?"

"I think I can," Irina said, looking at Fenris discreetly through the corner of her eye. She was too polite to put him on the spot, but she wondered why he'd lied, and what he was actually doing in Darktown.

...


	4. Take cover

"I'd rather keep feeling the needles inside," Irina told Anders, eyeing with contempt the concoction that he was preparing for her.

"Oh, you don't mean that," Anders pouted, as he ground small chunks into a pulp. "Not after all the time I spent macerating these centipedes!"

"Is there any other way…?" she whimpered.

"Sweetheart, we're both poor. I guess I could spare two or three vials of lyrium, but if you're coming with us, we should save as many of those as we can, shouldn't we?"

"I suppose," she replied, reluctantly. Anders cast a quick look at her. She looked so young, even in the poor light of the clinic. Her front was covered by an apron which still revealed her feminine forms, in spite of the breeches and shirt that she wore when she assisted him. She was good with children and women, but men always seemed to intimidate her. Anders could tell than other than her brother or father, there had been no other masculine figure in her life, and he was certain that intimacy was not her forte.

He shook his head. Had he met her a few years before, perhaps…

"Is this satisfactory?" Irina's calm voice took him out of his reverie. She had finished organizing the chest with their scarce supplies and had already put away the bandages to take home and wash. Anders peered at the contents and nodded. She tied up her sack and waited. The day was almost done, and Carver would soon come to take her home.

Her fingers followed the marks on the wooden workbench, made by some refugees as a way to pay him back for his assistance. She wondered how many people had come to him, looking for something that would ease the pain, stop the suffering… "Say, Anders…" she started, in her soft, low voice. "I've been thinking… Do you think you could teach me–?"

"The answer is yes," he replied in a friendly way. "I  _knew_  that you were going to ask about it eventually. In fact, I think you'd be great at it..."

* * *

"I'm serious, Gamlen. Carver needs it," Leandra urged her brother. "He's asked about it three times already, and I can't keep telling him that I'm still looking for it. Things shouldn't get lost in this house – it's too small for that!"

"I told you, I don't know anything about it," Gamlen grunted. "Why would I? Do you think I go around fumbling with your belongings?"

"I'm not saying you did, but there are only a number of us. I don't have it, Carver asked for it, and Irya wouldn't be caught dead near it, because–"

"–a witch gave it to you, yes. You've told me the story more than twice already." Gamlen rolled his eyes. "Perhaps you should have asked the witch to give you riches as well. It would have made life easier for all of us, I assure you," he muttered as he walked to the door. But before he could get to it, Carver went in, followed by his sister.

"Going out, Uncle?" he said merrily.

"Why? Do you want to join me?" Gamlen scoffed.

"Well, that depends on where you're going. If it's The Hanged Man, sure. Now, The  _Rose…_  Hmm, if I were you, I'd just stay away from that place… And from Madam Lusine."

Irina signaled her mother to follow her to their room. Leandra sighed. "Tell me that your brother didn't find the amulet at the Rose…" Her daughter's lips curled in a smile when she heard her mother groan.

"At least we found it," she said, removing her cowl. "It was a good thing that it's seemingly worthless, and that the Madam was kind enough to return it to us. She could have got rid of it."

"So you're going away to deliver it?" Leandra asked, helping her daughter out of her clothes and washing her back. "With Carver? Are you sure that's good for you?"

"Anders says I need some fresh air, and so does he. Besides, Sundermount is a good place to collect ingredients," Irina replied, dipping the piece of cloth in the bucket and quickly rubbing it against her stomach. She shuddered. "It's getting colder, isn't it?"

"The women at the market say that it'll rain soon. Tomorrow, perhaps. I feel it in my wrists and knees. It won't be good if the rain catches you on the road, baby."

"Carver says we'll have to take our chances. He wants to do this before the expedition."

"Speaking of which…" Leandra started, but Irina shook her head.

"I still haven't decided, mother. But do not worry; you'll be the first to know."

When she had finished, she put on her brown dress and brushed her shoulder-length hair. Sometimes she wished she had a mirror. When Bethany had died, her husband had come over to the house one day, bringing along some of Bethany's possessions. Among them, there was a hand mirror. Seeing her appearance in a place other than a bucket of water or a pond had seemed strange to her – she'd never thought she looked so similar to her mother.

But the mirror had smashed while they were running across the forest, their departure from Lothering being more of an escape than a simple wish to start anew. So many things had been lost in that journey…

They walked together up to the steps that would lead her to the Chantry District. In the distance, they heard the low rumble of thunder.

"Perhaps you shouldn't go today," Leandra said. "I'm afraid it will start raining before you get home."

"It's only water," Irina smiled. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" she asked, as she wrapped herself in her cloak. "Praying might make you feel better."

Leandra smiled and caressed her daughter's cheek. "Thank you, my darling. But you know how I feel… Another time, perhaps." Something small and wet landed on her arm. "You'd better hurry, then. Just promise me you'll stay in the Chantry until it stops, will you?" She kissed her daughter on the forehead and watched her run up the steps. She wondered what Malcolm would say if he knew that her faith had been shaken after all the death they'd seen back in Ferelden. Leandra understood Irina's need to believe in something, but she refused to believe that all that had been lost had been part of a greater plan.

* * *

"Sweet Mother of Partha, look at this rain… It's unnatural!" Anso shuddered. There were some people running along the streets, probably looking for some shelter. "The only good thing about it is that some of those smelly cloudgazers will finally be clean."

"So no news, then," Fenris sighed. Anso shook his head.

"No news. I thought it would make you happy. Ancestors, does _anything_  ever make you happy, elf?"

Fenris pondered the answer for a while. "Perhaps."

Anso raised his eyebrows and waited for some kind of elaboration, but it appeared that Fenris had run out of words. The dwarf rolled his eyes and shook his head, muttering a few words in his own language. The elf's permanence in the city intrigued him. They hadn't heard about his former master for months now. He'd seen him hang around Lowtown several times. Some of Anso's companions had told him that even though he stayed away from the alienage, Fenris had been seen roaming the alleys at night in company of some mercenaries. Anso had no doubt that they had referred to the impossibly tall human that he'd met through Meeran.

"Say, do you see the pirate lady very often?" he asked Fenris nonchalantly.

Fenris shrugged. "Whenever there's work to do. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. No reason at all… Is she still as attractive as she was a couple of months ago?"

Fenris shrugged. "If that's your type, I suppose."

"Man… I still can't believe that you're not all over her. I'd be all over her like a deepstalker over a dead nug."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure that kind of talk is very appealing to the ladies…"

Anso chuckled. "Yes. Back in Orzammar, I had a few girlfriends, you know…"

"It's a good thing they didn't follow you to the surface, then," the elf smirked, lifting the corner of the curtain with a finger and looking out of the window. "Imagine what they'd have thought if they had seen you sniveling about falling into the sky."

"Hrm. You're one to talk, hiding in here," Anso grunted. He'd received the elf in his room at the Guild's Inn more than a couple of times in the past weeks.

"I'm not hiding," Fenris frowned. "I came for a game of Diamondback only to find that you've misplaced your cards. If I leave right away, it wouldn't be polite, would it? It would appear as if I'd come here only to play cards."

"Oh, nooo… Far it be from me to think ill of you," the dwarf said sarcastically. "But seriously, I think I'm doing you a favour."

"How's that?"

"You still owe the others a shitload of money."

"And I said I'd pay them. Eventually." Fenris walked to the door. "I have a job lined up in a couple of days."

"Sellsword? Wait – I thought you didn't have that huge sword of yours anymore. In fact…" Anso squinted. "I see you're not wearing your spikes. That's not wise, considering your history."

"I don't really need a sword to defend myself," the elf shrugged, and raised a hand to say goodbye to the dwarf.

As he was striding back to the mansion, he heard someone following him. The rain had caused the area to be almost deserted; the merchants were gone but there still were a few people walking around. As soon as he reached the last corner before the exit to the Chantry District, he hid and waited.

"Are you sure you saw him take a turn here?" one of the voices said.

"Shhh! He's probably still around," another voice replied.

"We shouldn't be doing this. He's friends with Varric Tethras, and it's not worth the money they'd pay us…" Three of them now.

"But are we sure we're gonna get some money out of this? I haven't seen many Imperials in Kirkwall lately…" A woman's voice.

"We'll surely find them along the coast." Yet another voice. "But we need to decide what to do. This doesn't look like the kind of bloke we can take with us."

"Maybe we should get some chains," the first man sniggered. "We can deliver him that way, since he's gonna be clapped in irons anyway."

Fenris waited. Five people. And he was on his own… His hand reached for the hilt of his broadsword, but there was nothing there to be found. He mentally cursed Varric for always making fun of his clothes, and himself for being foolish enough to take heed of those empty words. Being safe was far more important than being inconspicuous.

Well… He was not helpless, but he was pressed for time. It was either crouch and hide again, hoping they wouldn't notice him, or come out and give them a fight. He smirked. Fear was not his thing.

With a battle cry, he lunged against the group. He didn't need a blade. He was a blade. He'd always been so; an instrument of death and destruction, honed in blood and pain. He'd been made for that. His fists sent the men reeling against walls and crates, his hands twisted arms until he heard the snapping of the bones, and the lyrium in his veins burned inside him like a sun, pushing him to the limit.

When only the woman stood, cowering against a wall, he grabbed her by the hair and snarled, "Those who seek me… Where are they?"

"I… I don't know," the woman shivered, her eyes darting about. "Keelan… H-he had a contact… The Wounded Coast… But I-we didn't know…"

"Were you even supposed to meet them?"

"I told you, we never arranged–!"

An arrow grazed Fenris's arm, making him groan and briefly loose his grip on the woman, who swiftly sank a knife on the elf's side. The last thing she did, though, for Fenris's ghostly fist went through her. When she died, there was a look of disbelief in her face, as if she couldn't understand what had gone wrong.

Fenris didn't linger to see who had shot him. There must have been another one, a silent one. He pressed his hand to the side and walked to the passageway. Again, two options. He could either go back to the mansion and drink himself to death, or he could go to Anders's clinic, and let the abomination heal him.

Slowly but firmly, he went back to Hightown.

* * *

The Grand Cleric's monthly sermon was always something that made Irina's heart flutter. That had little to do with the man standing behind her, but she couldn't deny that there was a certain appeal to the mysterious Brother. They had spoken once or twice – a brief exchange of words, on some occasions in which he'd gone to their home in Lowtown, looking for Carver. He was polite and correct, with a voice that could calm people down or inflame them. Every now and then the Grand Cleric allowed him to sing bits of the Chant of Light that were relevant to the sermon she was giving, and his rich voice had more carry and intensity than that of the other Brothers and Sisters.

When she finished, Elthina gave her benediction to those who sought it. Irina was the last one in line, as always. Elthina smiled at the young woman and watched her leave. Sebastian cleared his throat discreetly.

"Yes, Sebastian?" she asked.

"Your Grace, would you excuse me for a minute?"

"Of course, child." She was not oblivious to the direction in which Sebastian's eyes were lingering, but she trusted him enough to know that he had left that life of earthly pleasures behind. And besides, she thought as she saw him walk away silently, there would be no danger in letting him talk to a young woman like Irina Hawke. She was not the kind who could lead people astray.

"Miss Hawke!" Sebastian called after Irina. She looked back in surprise as she adjusted her cowl.

"Brother Sebastian," she greeted him with a nod. She held her hands together demurely and waited.

"Are you waiting for your brother?"

"No, I'm waiting for the rain to subside. The tiles of Hightown looks very pretty, but I'm afraid I'll slip and fall, and possibly crack my head, if I go down now." She smiled and Sebastian found himself smiling as well.

"If you want I can walk you home," he offered. "I wouldn't mind."

"Oh no! So kind of you to offer, though," she said dismissively. Her eyes wandered towards the Estate district, whose lush vegetation was greener than ever in the rain.

"Miss Hawke, I've been meaning to ask…" Sebastian said softly. "You are a mage…" He saw her look at him with her eyes open wide. "No, please… Do not worry. I understand your concerns, but I'm no Templar. I was wondering if you'd never thought of willingly join the Circle?"

"I… Maker, what a question…" Irina giggled nervously. She rubbed her arms and looked away.

"Forgive me," Sebastian said hastily. "It was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. I was only curious."

"There's no harm done," she said softly. She looked at her hands and back at him. His blue eyes looked earnest. She smiled gently. "In Ferelden, I had to stand by the wishes of my father. He and my older sister were mages, and joining the Circle would have been like treason. Here, I see the legacy of my family in my brother's actions." She looked away. "I know he's doing his best for me. He's keeping the family together by respecting my father's will. I am no threat to the people of Kirkwall, Brother. If the Templars came for me, however… I would not struggle. I'd rather submit than see my family suffer for me."

"It's a noble sentiment, albeit unnecessary. You are of age. The choice should be yours now. And if you don't mind me saying so, there is something about you," he murmured slowly, "a peace of mind and spirit that might benefit some of the people in the Circle – or the Chantry."

"Are you proposing, Brother Sebastian?" Irina asked. Sebastian's softly blushed cheeks both amused and mortified her. "Well, I didn't mean-!"

"Oh, neither did I! All I meant was…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maker… Well, what I meant was that perhaps you'd be interested in doing the right thing."

It was Irina's turn to blush. "I wasn't aware that I was doing the wrong thing by staying away from other people's business, Brother," she replied coolly. "Perhaps I should revise my conduct." She turned around and walked down the steps of the Chantry, leaving him with dozens of dead words in his lips.

She rushed down and almost slipped on one of the weathered steps. Her hand clung to the banister and she paused for a while. She needed to breathe. She recognized Carver's foul temper burning inside her every time that she got angry, which fortunately didn't happen very often. Her eyes were clouded with tears of rage. What a stupid thing to do, to get angry with someone who had dared voice her feelings. Sebastian hadn't been wrong, but he'd caught her off guard, and she had reacted foolishly. She wiped the tears with the back of her hand and was about to keep going downstairs when she saw him staggering up the stairs and fall. His white hair was damp and his eyes were closed. Even in the poor light of the passageway, she could tell that he was pale.

"Fenris!" she cried out, and dashed to his side. He opened his eyes briefly and focus on her face.

What was she doing there, he wondered. That was no place for her to be on her own. Kirkwall was a hard place. There was danger around every corner. She wasn't made for that. She was soft and tender, the kind of woman that should wear pretty dresses and play the harp and sing sweetly and eat delicacies and giggle while resting on cushions.

"You're delirious," she murmured, a hint of sweetness in her voice. Fenris's eyes opened sharply. He'd actually said those things out loud. He scrambled to his feet and leaned against the banister. "Let me help you," she said. Before he could reject her, she had passed his arm around her shoulders and forced him to lean on her.

When they reached the mansion, he wanted to collapse right next to the door, but she kept pushing and dragging him, until she found a settee in one of the rooms in the lower floor. He landed on his back and screamed as his hand stopped pressing the wound. The last thing he heard was a gasp, and then he sank into a dreamless sleep.

Irina stood there for a while, wondering if she could risk dashing to Darktown and fetching Anders. But she was alone. Perhaps he could ask Sebastian to do it? No, Sebastian and Anders should not meet. Fenris was shuddering, unconscious… If only she hadn't left her things at home… She clenched her fists and looked around the house for supplies. She was pleased to see that Fenris kept a good fire roaring upstairs. She tore some of the bedclothes she found to make bandages and, as she waited for the water to boil with the pieces of cloth in it, she found some bottles of wine. She sent the beeswax bung right into the bottle, not knowing how to open it properly, and she hoped that it wouldn't matter that much. Anders always had some beeswax lying around, so it couldn't be that bad for the body, could it? Right?

She paused and took a breath. Her mind was racing, but she was not afraid. If worse came to worst… Well, at least now she had one more thing to try.

Bringing along the bandages and the wine, Irina returned to Fenris's side, but he was still unconscious. She took a deep breath. "He's just another patient at Anders's clinic," she said out loud. "A patient." Her fingers found the place where the wound had been made and tore the gap wider, so that she could take a better look. She felt her cheeks burning as the torn fabric gave her a view of his stomach. Her eyes glanced back at his face, but he was not there. Pressing her lips with determination, she quickly tore the rest apart.

Irina had seen Carver's torso uncovered before, so she knew what she would find, but she didn't understand why seeing Fenris's made her feel light-headed. Perhaps it was the wine nearby, or the heavy air in the room. It had to be one of those things. She quickly cleaned the wound and poured wine over it. There was a storm outside, and she wondered if it would ever stop. She knew what she had to do: once it subsided, she would run to the Chantry and ask for supplies, and she'd ask Sebastian to fetch Carver. Carver would fetch Anders, and Anders would know what to do and everything would be fine…

Fenris whimpered softly, bringing her back to the unpleasant reality – she might not have much time to act. She bit her lower lip and let out an anguished sigh. She stared at her hands for a moment and then at Fenris. If he woke up before she was done… What would keep him from harming her?

But there was no other choice. She took a clean cloth, dipped it in cold water, wrung it, and placed it over his eyes and forehead to soothe the fever, but also to prevent him from seeing her. Her hands hovered over the wound and she closed her eyes, remembering what Anders had taught her.

The needles came back to her, pricking her from the inside and making her cringe. But this wasn't about her. Fenris needed healing, and she'd have to get used to the sensation. Her palms felt warm and her lips silently chanted the word of power that Anders had taught her, again and again, until her mind was filled with only that.

An unfamiliar, warm sensation pouring into him, Fenris opened his eyes and found them covered.  _Magic._  The magisters had finally caught up with him. He blindly grabbed whoever was there by the wrist and was about to break it when he heard her let out a cry. He took the cloth off his eyes and found Irina, pale and sweaty.

Not the magisters. Not an enemy. Irina.

"What… Where…?" He looked around. The mansion. He remembered. He'd been hurt. His hand moved to the wounded side and found it still open, but not bleeding. He groaned.

"Don't-! Don't touch it, please," she said weakly. "I was… I was only trying to help. I'm sorry, Fenris."

His name in her lips sounded strange, as if there was another Fenris that he didn't know about. Not the slave, not the pet. A different Fenris. He stared at her for a moment. "You were using magic."

Irina lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry. I know how you feel about that. But… It was the only thing I could do. There's not much more I can give. I asked Anders to teach me, some weeks ago." Her voice was faint, and Fenris remembered how exhausting it was for her to cast spells.

And yet, there she was, healing him; using her magic for his benefit. She had dismissed the pain she felt for his sake.  _There's not much more I can give,_  she'd said. Fenris felt the same way. He sighed and closed his eyes, drawing whatever energy he had left. The searing pain came to him, bringing back memories that he never wanted to relive. But if he was going to endure the pain, then at least it should serve a better cause.

Irina watched him glow. She didn't know what to expect with him. She wanted him to understand that she hadn't meant to inconvenience him in any way, but before she could speak, she heard him say, "Try again."

She gaped at him. Was he trying to give her the lyrium she needed? She felt wicked, as though she was one of the slavers that had kept him leashed back in Tevinter. But as if he could read her mind, he spoke again. "Do not worry. Try again."

Irina swallowed hard and moved her hands over his stomach. She felt her power coming from her core, swirling around her arms - this time, it was flowing like water, fresh and swift. She looked at Fenris, who was watching her. He didn't look angry or in pain. For the first time, he was just looking at her normally. Their eyes focused on the wound, which was slowly receding. Neither of them spoke.

* * *

"I didn't find much, I'm sorry," Fenris said, bringing with him a plate with some cheese and bread. "I'm not used to hosting - Irina?" he called out. She was not there. He left the plate on the table and walked to the other room. He found her browsing the shelves ridden with books of all kinds and sizes.

"I can understand your not coming out of this house more often," she said merrily. "Look at this collection! There are so many I've never even heard of!" Her fingers stroked the spine of one of the big books and for a moment Fenris thought the book would purr.

"I've occasionally used them to stoke the fire," he grunted.

Irina's grey eyes opened wide. "But… They're  _books_ …"

"They burn well."

"They've got stories, and history, and poems, and...!" She looked at him, who was looking away. It dawned on her and she felt embarrassed. "And you can't read, can you?"

Fenris gave her a hard look. "Slaves are not taught to read. The only word we were taught was 'poison', to make sure we wouldn't feed our masters some of it." He smirked. "You would think that they wouldn't teach us about it, but we always knew it was not worth it. The punishment we'd get would be tenfold worse." He turned around and walked out of the room. "You're welcome to take them, if you want."

He sat on the floor in front of the fire and his fingers ran over the bandaged wound. It felt itchy, but she'd told him not to scratch it, and he knew better than to disobey that kind of command. His green eyes watched the flames. There was a certain warmth in the room that he'd never felt before. Perhaps it was the rain outside that made the inside feel more homely. He heard her quiet steps behind him and suddenly she was there, sitting on the settee behind him, a book in her hands. He rolled his eyes and ate a piece of cheese.

"What was that look?" she asked.

"You're going to try to teach me how to read," he droned.

"I'm not," she replied. "You don't seem to want to learn, so I won't teach you."

"Much appreciated," he muttered.

"But do you mind if I read out?" she asked.

Fenris's lips curled into an involuntary smile. He wrinkled his nose, trying to cover the gesture. "I knew it."

"What?" Irina said innocently. "I've been told my voice is good enough to sing along the sweet notes of a harp, so my reading shouldn't be that bad."

Fenris blushed and looked away. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he grunted, "but if you must read, so be it. I'll be over here, drinking some wine, before you pour more of it on me."

"Fine," she conceded. She cleared her throat and read out,  _"At Shartan's word, the sky grew black with arrows…"_

* * *

She'd fallen asleep, undoubtedly exhausted after the effort she'd made. That night, Fenris kept feeding the fire for her. When he was on his own, he didn't mind waking up to a cold room, but he wasn't alone. He would be, once she returned home. For the moment, she was there.

He didn't know what to make of it. His eyes wandered about her sleeping figure, stopping over her hands, still clinging to that book, and her rosy lips, slightly parted. The sleep of the innocent.

He knew that the best thing to do would be to venture out and contact her brother. Carver would soon go to the Chantry looking for her. Perhaps he should go and leave word that she was there, with him.

Or he could also cover her with a blanket the way he was doing it now, and let her sleep as much as she needed. She snuggled under the covers and muttered "thank you" before going back to sleep.

It came so easy for other people, and yet, he'd never thought of saying it. Then again, he had never had the chance.

He wasn't used to sleeping on softer surfaces. He curled up on the floor in front of the fire and covered himself with another blanket. He watched her, hoping she'd sleep there all night long. He was tired as well, and before he closed his eyes, he murmured, "Thank you, Irya."

...


	5. I see you

"How come nobody thought of getting horses?" Varric huffed and puffed as they walked along the road leading to Sundermount. "Shit, Hawke… The  _one_  time you take care of the logistics of a job, you make me walk all across Thedas."

"Why are you even here?" Carver asked, looking back over his shoulder. "This isn't a _job_  – we won't get any money from the Dalish."

"Carver, I'm surprised: I must know how the story of the medallion ends, and you're all piss-poor narrators. Did you hear that, elf?" Varric asked Fenris, whose eyes were searching for signs of movement around them.

"The 'no money' thing?" Fenris asked distractedly.

"How did they talk you into this, if there's no riches involved?"

Fenris considered his reply for a moment. "Creditors," he said slowly. "They might be going to the mansion looking for me, and if all of you are gone, who will defend me?"

Varric stared at him. "Are you…? Wait; was that supposed to be a joke?"

Fenris shrugged. "Believe what you wish."

"Oh, come on, pretty elf," Isabela chuckled. "You could always ask little Irina to patch you up if they attack you again…" Her words ended in a teasing note that made him press his lips. Of course they all had heard about the ambush in Lowtown, how he'd been wounded, and how Irina had healed him. The morning after, when Fenris was walking her back to her home, Carver had been furious with both of them. Irina had apologized profusely, claiming that they'd both been so exhausted after what had happened that they'd fallen asleep shortly after. Fenris had had to jump in and explain everything thoroughly. He wasn't afraid of Irina's brother, but Carver's murderous eyes and clenched fists were never a good sign.

"Ah, that's right," Varric sneered. "You still have to show us the scars, elf. Some of us still have a hard time buying that story…"

"No scars. She did a pretty good job," Fenris muttered.

"I can still give him new ones," Carver grunted.

"So where's the Princess?" Varric asked. "You don't let her around the empty-pocketed elf but you don't mind her gallivanting with the empty-pocketed apostate?"

"If money was a requirement to get close to Irina, not even Carver would be allowed to get too close," Aveline said, nudging her Fereldan companion.

"Remind me again why you're here, Red?" Varric asked.

Aveline looked back at the dwarf. The corners of her lips were bent down, as if she was unhappy with the situation. "Jeven gave me some time off after I 'questioned' some of the procedures. I was hoping to persuade Carver to help me turn a few stones again…"

Varric guffawed. "Well, well – who'd have said that incorruptible Aveline 'Red' Vallen would end up getting her hands dirty with a bunch of mercenaries and refugees?"

"It's not about getting dirty, it's precisely the opposite. And don't call me 'Red'," she frowned. "You're better than that. Keep thinking of a good nickname, Varric, or else…" She stopped walking. "What's that sound?" Her hand moved over the hilt of her sword.

Varric had already readied Bianca when they heard hurried steps running towards them. From among the tall bushes, Anders and Irina emerged, dirty and sweaty. Anders rested his hands on his knees and breathed in and out heavily. Irina walked towards Carver, breathless.

"Wolves…" she managed to say, pressing her right hand to her stomach.

"She wouldn't let me kill them," Anders explained between gasps of air. "Andraste's tits, I'm so unfit… I…  _We_  had to hex them… To have time to escape…"

"Why wouldn't you let him kill them, Irya?" Carver asked his sister as he sheltered his eyes from the sun and scouted the area.

"There was no need," she replied faintly. "It's just animals…" She found Fenris's water flask in front of her face, but she rejected it politely. "Thank you," she said kindly, before taking a sip of her own.

"Those animals wouldn't hesitate to kill you," Fenris grunted.

She looked at Fenris sadly. "It's in their nature. They can't help it," Irina replied. "But I am no animal. I can."

"Well, no harm done," Isabela said lightly, "but we'd better get going. They'll probably track us down. And I'm sorry, little one," she said, patting Irina on the head, "but I  _will_  kill them if they come near me."

"Understood," Irina nodded, but her disapproval was palpable, and Fenris wondered what was special about wolves that she wanted to protect them. Rabbits, deer, fish – she had never objected before. For a brief moment he found himself thinking of the evening they'd spent together.

 _"It's my grandmother's name. My father's mother," she had explained. "I heard him say once that it meant 'peace', and that he believed that it was the most appropriate name for someone like me."  
_ _"He seems to have been correct," Fenris had replied, sitting on the floor cross-legged. "Though there was no way he would have known how you would turn out." Her fingers were stroking the corners of the book and he had gotten distracted. He was taking another sip of the red wine when she had asked him about his name. "Pardon me?"  
_ _"Your name,_ 'Fenris' _– it is… unusual." She had left her book resting on her lap and had wrapped her arms around her legs. Her fair-skinned toes were showing under the hem of the dress and he had wondered if her legs would look as soft as the parts that he had seen already.  
_ _He had shaken his head, feeling stupid. Perhaps the wine and the loss of blood had affected him more than he had thought. "Tevene. Danarius's choice._ 'Little wolf'. _"  
_ _She had cocked her head and watched him until he had shifted uncomfortably under her grey eyes, only because he couldn't let himself look at her as if he was her equal. He'd never be.  
_ _"I can see why," she had said gently, and then she had gone silent._

"Elf?" Varric called him. "They're gonna leave us behind if we don't move our asses."

Fenris looked ahead. Carver, Aveline, and Isabela were talking loudly; Anders and Irina were already far from them, pointing out to a cluster of plants. Herbalism was something that Anders knew pretty well, and Fenris had sometimes seen Irina and Carver walking to Darktown, their arms filled with sacks of plants, leaves, and seeds. Fenris had always thought it silly of the healer to expect something to grow in that place. But somehow, he had managed to grow some elfroot and dandelion to Irina's delight.

Fenris followed Varric, his eyes never straying from the people ahead of him.

* * *

Isabela gave him a piece of deer meat and sat down next to him, away from the fire. She was taking the occasional swig of some kind of light drink that the Dalish had offered them.

"So…" she said, her eyes glistening with amusement. "Which of these girls will you bed tonight?"

"Excuse me?" Fenris blinked.

"I've seen the way they look at you. I think it's your markings that they're after." She bumped his leg with hers playfully. "Or perhaps it's that skin of yours, or your mysterious scowl…"

"Are you flirting with me?" Fenris snorted. "What will Carver say?"

Isabela scoffed. "He wouldn't notice. Not anymore, at least." Her amber eyes landed on the tall warrior, who was also away from the group, talking to a petite elf with a certain air of loneliness. "I guess I'm not his type."

"Anso's interested in you," Fenris noted, making her laugh.

"The dwarf? How adorable…" She stretched and played with the grass on which they were sitting. "At least he's got pretty eyes. You have pretty eyes too…" she said softly.

"Flattering. But I'm not interested, Isabela," Fenris said, the shadow of a smile dancing on his lips.

"Liar. I think you  _are_  interested in doing it, but not with me," she purred next to his ear, grazing the skin of his neck with her teeth.

Fenris moved away quickly and stared at her. "What do you know?"

She smiled. "It's not that hard to see. Even Carver knows it, which is why he's more protective than ever. It's not a bad thing… I mean, I don't know what you see in her. She's not exactly pretty. Her nose is delicate, but a bit too long for her little face. The hair is a little mousy. Well, she's all a bit mousy. Quiet, and yet sneaky…"

Fenris rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't call her 'sneaky'."

"Well, she was sneakily looking at you a while ago," Isabela said amusedly, causing Fenris to look in Irina's direction. He found her looking away quickly. She said something to Anders and the two of them went for a walk. Fenris grunted, making the pirate chuckle. "You two are very discreet."

"Way to make it awkward, Isabela," the young elf protested. "We sure needed that."

"Oh, so you're 'we' already?" Isabela let out a hearty laugh. "All I'm saying is, you two will probably spend a long time down there in the Deep Roads. There's no need to rush things, but that will happen, sooner or later. Trust me - I know an interested woman when I see one. Take Aveline and that guardsman Donnic, for instance. Aveline doesn't banter, but I caught her saying something funny to that guy once or twice. She's got something for him, even though she may not know it yet. And the same goes for Irina."

"Just because we speak? She spends a lot of time with Anders, and you're not saying anything about that."

"Hrm," Isabela said, looking at the two mages. "Anders does have nice hands… And I'm pretty sure he's got a nice body under those rags. And he seems to be very attentive with her. Maybe you're right," she said, patting him on the leg before getting back on her feet and joining Varric, who was talking to an old elf about forgotten stories.

Fenris's eyes followed the mages. He felt like a fool. He didn't exactly want to bed Irina. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of that kind of intimacy. But having watched her sleep back at the mansion, he realized that he was less lonely when she was around. He could feel that she didn't fear him, and he wondered if something had changed within him or within her.

* * *

The young Dalish put down her staff and looked back at the group. They were staring at her, making her blush with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry… I should have told you–"

"That you're a mage?" Carver asked. He pointed to Irina and Anders, whose hands were still on their staves. "We really don't mind."

Merrill smiled shyly. "I'll remember that."

They continued walking up Sundermount, Isabela and Aveline heading the line, Carver, Merrill, Anders, and Irina talking about Dalish magic, and Fenris and Varric closing the march. The dwarf kept puffing and whining, which greatly amused Fenris. It was fun to see that even those that he looked up to complained about trivial things as much as he did. Suddenly Varric miscalculated a jump and tripped on a loose rock, sending him tumbling down.

"How the mighty have fallen," Fenris smirked when he helped the dwarf to stand up.

"I'm starting to wish you didn't have a sense of humour, ya know?" Varric barked and brushed the dust off his coat. His palms were grazed and when he took Bianca, he flinched. "Shit…" he muttered, looking at his hands.

"Can I help?" a soft voice said behind them. Irina had fallen behind and was looking at the two men with curiosity.

"It's nothing, Princess. Just a scratch," Varric said dismissively.

"Let Irina heal you," Fenris said, barely looking at her.

"I can do that, yes," she said to Varric.

The dwarf's eyes went from one of his companions to the other. When had they started acting as two sides of the same coin? He tried wiggling his fingers, but the skin felt tight and burning. "Eh. Alright," he nodded. "What do I have to lose?"

"Just your hands," Fenris mocked him, making him scowl. "Are you ready?" he asked the young woman, still without looking at her.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," she said gently.

"I know." His green eyes landed on her grey ones and lingered there for a moment. Irina felt a warm shiver rippling up her skin.  _It must be the need for lyrium,_ she thought _. It has to be that._  As if from afar, she heard Varric clearing his throat and she nodded. The word of power appeared in her mind and as Fenris glowed, the healing magic poured on Varric in gentle waves.

"Woah," the dwarf said when she was done. "It feels different from Blondie's magic. His is hot and fast, yours is… fresh. Slow and tender. Did you learn it from Anders?"

"I did. I'm doing it exactly as he taught me. I'm afraid I don't know why it would be different," she replied honestly.

"Perhaps it is different for every mage," Fenris ventured in a murmur.

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Could be. Especially because not every mage has you, elf."

"I don't have Fenris," Irina said quickly. "I mean, he's not mine. I don't have him."

"I don't have her either. It's not… We don't have each other," Fenris said, trying to help, only to realize that Varric's eyebrows had risen even higher. "You've got a dirty mind," he frowned.

"I did  _not_  say  _a word_ ," Varric said, raising his hands. "But now I can believe that she spent the night fixing you, and from what I've seen, I was right: you two  _could_  work together, and  _you,_ Princess, can be more powerful than you've ever thought."

"She wouldn't use me like that," Fenris said.

"Or any other way," Irina hurried to say.

"Or any other way," Fenris repeated embarrassedly, to Varric's amusement.

"Fine. Forget I said anything," the dwarf said. "Let's just move on. We've got some catching up to do. Maker's breath, Princess – why does your brother have such long legs? Look how far we are from them!"

"We'll be fine, Varric," Irina smiled.

When they caught up with the group, Carver was on the verge of fighting with a group of Dalish that had set up camp on the way.

"Stay back," Fenris told Irina as he walked up to the place where his companions were arguing with the elves.

"You can't make me apologize,  _shem,_ " one of the elves spat. "We know what she is, and tragedy will befall you if you take her along with you. Better push her off the summit and get rid of this monster as soon as you can…"

"How can you talk about one of yours like that?" Carver shouted. "She's been nothing but helpful."

"Suit yourself, shem," the elf shrugged. "We're done here."

Fenris looked at Merrill's face, which was red with embarrassment. He wondered what she'd done to deserve such treatment. If there was one thing he knew about the Dalish was how proud they were of their clans and each of the members. Whatever she had done had earned her the scorn of her people, and he had a bad feeling about it.

He saw Carver talking to the little woman in a low voice, asking her if she was alright. Isabela's hunch had been correct – he had taken a liking to the Dalish girl. Fenris looked at the pirate woman, who seemed to pretend not to pay attention to them, and he felt sorry for her. If she'd ever felt anything for Carver, he obviously hadn't taken it seriously. Fenris felt grateful for not being in that situation. If something like that happened to him…

He heard some voices behind him and found Varric and Irina laughing at Anders's impersonation of Carver's macho attitude. Irina was covering her mouth with her hands, but Fenris could still see her shoulders convulsing with the giggling. Varric was holding his stomach in laughter, and for a while Fenris wished he could cause that kind of reaction on people. The dwarf was always teasing him about how broody he always seemed to be. How could he explain that there was nothing to be merry about? That he'd always been little more than an object, and that objects were not entitled to have a life of their own, or to found joy in the simple things like everybody else did?

Anders was in a particularly good mood that day, and he was holding Irina's hand, dancing with her, making her laugh. Fenris looked away.

Poor Isabela.

* * *

"Are you sure there's no other path?" Aveline asked Merrill hesitantly. "Perhaps we could go down and climb the mountain from the north side?"

"Aveline, don't tell me you're afraid," Carver smiled, patting his friend on the back. "It's just a passage."

"It's an  _underground_  passage, surely teeming with spiders and Maker knows what else," the woman shuddered.

"Spiders don't bother you unless you attack them," Isabela shrugged. "Let's go; the sooner we finish with this, the better." She walked into the passage first and disappeared from sight. They waited. Suddenly they heard her shrieking.

"What happened?" Aveline asked, unsettled.

"Are you alright?" Carver shouted, running into the passage himself. "Oh,  _you idiot!_  Come down, Aveline; Isabela was just trying to scare you!"

"Slattern," Aveline muttered, her fear swallowed by the rage of being fooled by the pirate. "I'll show her…"

Merrill followed them, and then it was Varric's turn. Anders turned to Irina and kissed her hand. "M'lady," he said solemnly, "if I don't return, do not weep for me, for I will have gone to a better place…"

"Don't be silly," Irina smiled, wrinkling her nose, and she watched him disappear in the darkness of the cavern.

"After you," Fenris said. Irina looked at him briefly and nodded. Just as she turned to enter the gaping hole, something shimmering caught her eye.

"Did you see that?" she asked Fenris, placing a hand on his arm. His skin glistened and she removed her hand. "Sorry… I didn't mean…"

"No... No harm done. See what?"

"There was something shining over there, among those bushes." Whatever it was, it sparkled again. Fenris's hand moved over the hilt of his sword and gripped it cautiously.  _Armor?_  Was there someone there? Perhaps they'd followed him…

" _There!_  Again! Did you see that?" Irina murmured, following him silently as he approached the bushes to take a better look. There was a hissing sound coming from the plants.

"Step back!" he shouted, but something caught him by the leg and pulled him hard, making him lose balance and drop his sword. As he struggled against whatever it was that was dragging him away, something crawled up his leg, squeezing it mightily. He screamed. Thick tendrils crept up his body, covering it quickly, and there was one thought crossing his mind.

She hadn't been caught.

Something warm grabbed him by the hand. Something human and soft, holding on to his wrist desperately. And then, Irina's voice.

"Fenris! Fight back! I can't do it without you!"

A sudden scream, coming from her. Her body was being pulled along with his, and he struggled to get to her. Amidst the constricting vines, he caught sight of her terrified eyes. He was willing to bet that his hands could rip those plants apart if he focused, as long as he could breathe. Instead, his hands reached out to her and found hers. He covered her with his body and when he looked up, before everything went dark, a light shone on them.

His body started glowing.  _Magic._  Anders's. The lights blinded him for a moment, and he heard the shouting and movement around them. The hissing died out, and the tendrils loosened their grip.

"Are you alright?" Anders ran towards them followed by Merrill. "For the love of the Maker, you could have died!"

Fenris stared at him and then he stared down at Irina, who was still clinging to him. "Hey," he said softly. "We're safe now."

Irina's grey eyes watched him in silence and shortly after, she nodded. Anders offered her his hand and helped her up, and he did the same for Fenris.

"Thank you for protecting her," Anders said, letting out a sigh of relief.

Fenris rubbed his arms. "What was that?"

"Demon's Bind," Merrill said. "The clan's scouts must have missed this spot. There are three 'nests' around Sundermount. I'll make sure to tell them about this one when we return to camp."

"I thought you wouldn't be returning," Irina said, still visibly shaken.

"That's true," Merrill admitted.

"So why would you care what happens to them?" Fenris asked dryly. "They weren't very kind to you."

Merrill stared at him tiredly. "Even if they shun me out, they're still my clan. And someone has to care for them."

"I've heard about the bind before," Anders said, examining a dead tendril. "How did they lure you?"

"Something shiny," Irina's voice trembled. She turned to Fenris. "I'm so sorry. If I hadn't insisted…"

But Fenris shook his head. "You don't need to say anything. I thought it was…"

"Slavers?" she asked. Fenris nodded. "I'm glad it was just a plant, then." Her voice was warm, and she reached out to touch his arm sympathetically, but she stopped before getting to him, afraid to hurt him. "Thank you," she simply said, trying not to look at him. She turned to Anders and Merrill. "And thank you, both of you, as well."

* * *

For the second time in the day, they all stared at her. This time, what she had done was not welcome. Irina was the first to speak. "You summoned a demon. Why? There was no need…"

"I summoned a spirit," Merrill said defensively. "What does it matter? We needed help and it helped us, didn't it?"

Irina could feel both Anders and Fenris tensing nearby. "We could have found another way. We've done that so far. There was no need to resort to… To…"

"Blood magic," Fenris spat. "I hope we won't have to deal with another abomination soon enough."

"I'm over here, you know," Anders quipped. "I don't recall your rejecting help from this abomination lately…"

"I'm not possessed, Fenris, if that's what you fear. I'm in control," Merrill said adamantly.

Carver took a step forward. "One thing at a time, please. Let's… Let's deal with this ritual first, and then we can talk about… Well, whatever it is you do."

"Are you going to trust the blood mage with a _ritual of the dead?_ " Fenris asked incredulously.

"Do we have a choice?" Carver asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're putting us all in danger," the elf replied. "Your sister's with us – are you willing to risk her safety for some… some promise to a witch?"

"If you're so concerned, you can protect her yourself, can't you," Carver barked, and walked into the ruins that separated them from the altar.

As soon as they'd stepped in, they felt it. A place of carnage and death, the air thickened with the spirits of those who had been sacrificed there long before their arrival.

"There's no rest for the wicked here," Varric muttered, gripping Bianca tightly as he looked around the area. Irina and Anders were casting protective glyphs, making way for the others to reach the altar safely.

There was an explosion behind them. "One of the hexes went off! Something's coming – be ready! Irina, stay with me!" Anders shouted to the young woman, who held her staff in her right hand and summoned a wisp with her left hand. Fenris's eyes followed the ghostly light, silver blue in colour, before he turned to face whatever had been awakened.

The rattle of bones made him shiver, but he had seen worse things back in Tevinter. Those hollow men wouldn't scare him. He whirled and got rid of three of them in one swift cut. He looked at his companions. Aveline and Isabela were fighting back to back, and so were Carver and Varric. Anders and Irina were dealing with the healing and the energy of the others, and amidst the chaos, he saw Irina falter. Her wisp vanished and she became pale, her brow furrowed in pain.

"Merrill!" Fenris shouted, pointing to Anders. The Dalish ran towards the mage, helping him to upkeep the glyphs and hexes, and adding some of her own. Fenris stood in front of Irina, glowing blue, and he saw her gather her strength and casting a sizzling spell on a Horror. Fenris finished the abomination and when he looked around again, his companions looked exhausted but unharmed.

"I'd suggest resting…" Varric panted, "but honestly, I'd rather… get this thing done and run the fuck outta this place…"

"I agree," Aveline said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "Carver… Deal with it; we'll be watching your back, just in case."

Carver and Irina walked to the altar followed by Varric, and signaled Merrill to begin the ritual. In the distance, they saw how the figure of a formidable woman appeared to come out of the fire burning on the altar stone.

"Holy shit," Isabela gasped. "Get ready…"

But the woman seemed to have a quiet conversation with them. Three times brother and sister looked back at their companions, who couldn't hear anything but the whistling of the wind up there. When it was time, the woman seemed to jump off the mountain, but then they saw a dragon flying away.

"Holy shit indeed..." Aveline muttered, passing her flask of wine around to the other three companions that were standing with her.

* * *

On the way down, Carver and Irina didn't talk much about what had happened with the witch, and Varric was unusually quiet. The others weren't sure that they wanted to know what had transpired between the Hawkes and the mysterious woman, so they decided to remain silent as well.

Merrill was in no better shape than the rest. Her despair grew even more when they reached Kirkwall and she was introduced to the alienage. Some of the people there knew her clan's Keeper and they'd managed to find her a place that was relatively safe and warm.

"I know I'm in no position to ask," Merrill said uncomfortably, "but would it be too much to ask you to come by and visit me some time?" The question wasn't directed to anyone in particular, but Carver stepped ahead.

"I will," he said. "We'll be making the final preparations for our journey in the following weeks, but I promise you we will come," he said, wrapping his arm around his sister's shoulder.

Merrill looked at Irina, expecting to find reproach in her face, but she only found pity. "If you need to talk, just remember that our house is… Well, that we're willing to listen."

"Thank you," Merrill bowed, and she disappeared inside the house.

"Are we all going to the Hanged Man?" Isabela said, stretching. "I think that after this trip, I need a bath…  _And_  a strong drink."

"I'll second that," Aveline said.

"If you two are taking a bath together…" Varric ventured, but the guardswoman slapped the back of his head and scowled. "Whaaat? I didn't say anything…"

"I'll be going back to the clinic," Anders said. "I'll be waiting for you tomorrow," he told Irina, before scurrying down the steps that led to Darktown.

As the others strolled along the streets, Fenris couldn't help but wonder what the witch had told them that had made Irina so quiet. Curiosity was not part of his nature, and he felt uncomfortable with it. When they reached the entrance to the slums, they all said goodbye and Fenris had started to walk away when he heard his name.

Carver had taken a little pouch from his cinch. He threw it to the elf. "Here; thank you for helping my sister. You didn't have to, and yet you did."

Fenris took a look at the little purse and threw it back to Carver. "Keep your money," he said without bitterness. "I did it for her sake. And ours."

Carver's blue eyes stared at him for a while as if he was measuring the elf. He nodded. "Much appreciated," he murmured, and turned around the corner, disappearing from Fenris's sight.

Irina was leaning against a wall, looking up. "Did he take it?"

Carver shook his head. "It seems that the witch was right about him."

Irina let out a troubled sigh. "I don't want–"

"I know you don't," Carver interrupted her. "I think only time will tell. In the meantime…" He clenched his fists. "I think it would be better if you remained in Kirkwall. I can't risk bringing you with me… You heard what she said…"

"There's still time–" Irina protested.

"I've made up my mind, Irya," Carver said, holding her hands in his. "I'm taking him with me, and you're staying here."

...


	6. Step inside

Carver's eyes shot open. There was nothing there but the same grimy ceiling that bade him good morning every single day. He wasn't sure what time it was – Gamlen's room didn't have windows, but he assumed that the dying fire meant that it was close to the morning anyway.

In the bunk bed below his, Gamlen was snoring lightly. He hadn't woken up because of that. He tried to listen for other noises, but the house was still silent. He stared at the ceiling, looking for an answer, and when the events of the day before came back to him, he frowned.

…

" _Come on, Aveline… I tried to stay away when I was working for Meeran because I knew it might mean trouble for you." Carver's hands were resting on the back of the chair; they were in Aveline's room in the barracks. "I never even resented you for not letting me join the guard. Perhaps a bit, at the beginning, but you were right! It could have been risky for my family. But please, I need you…" A few women came and went, ogling him and giggling in a silly way. Aveline frowned._

" _I would have done it before, Hawke. You know I would. I… owe you a great deal." She polished the greaves of her armor slowly but carefully. That was pure Aveline. Every move she made was conscious; every decision taken, every word said. That had led her to where she was. And Carver had helped her get there. Her green eyes looked at him apologetically. "You can ask anything of me, but you can't… You can't ask me to go on the expedition with you."_

" _I need you there, Aveline Vallen," Carver said, kneeling next to her. "You are the only person I know that will have my back should anything happen down there." His blue eyes looked sincere, and for a moment, Aveline considered his offer. He'd rescued her from the tainted lands of Ferelden – he'd sworn Wesley that he'd protect her, and he had made good on his promise. But things had changed._

" _Carver… They want me to be Captain of the Guard." She stood up and walked away, rubbing her arms. She always felt naked without her armor. "That favor you did to me? The Viscount dictated… I am to start training duties as soon as possible. A headless Guard is as dangerous as a corrupt one."_

_Carver looked at her over his shoulder. He smiled sadly. "I see. It's… Well, I would have liked to have you there. I'm happy for you, Lyne." Aveline gazed at him. Wesley was the only one who used to call her like that. "Can I at least ask you to keep an eye on Irya?"_

_Aveline sighed, relieved. "Thank the Maker you're not taking her with you. Your mother would go out of her mind if you did. Yes." She pressed Carver's hand. "Yes, by all means. I'll be there for your family."_

…

Ever since Flemeth had told them that if both of them went to the expedition one of them would die, Carver had decided not to take Irina with him. He believed in magic. He didn't believe in witches of the Wilds. But there was no reason to dismiss the words of a shapeshifter, someone who had obviously been around and who definitely knew more than they did.

…

_Flemeth looked at the group that had stayed at a distance. "There's a spirit there, one that has suffered an unforeseen transformation. The same goes for the human hosting it." There was a smirk on her lips, and her amber-yellow eyes landed on Merrill, who was looking down. "Let that be a lesson to you, child, for that will be your end if you meddle with spirits without having control over them."_

" _Asha'bellanar…" Merrill stammered. "I just… I will be careful."_

" _Oh, you will," the witch laughed. "As much as you can. But it won't be enough, and your clan will pay the price in blood."_

_Carver saw Merrill cover her face with her hands, and his sister reaching out for the Dalish mage. Flemeth's eyes landed on Irina, and then they looked back at the other group._

" _The elf. The slave. I can feel him in you," she told Irina._

" _What do you mean?" Carver looked back at Fenris, who was staring at them in the distance. "Irina, did you–?"_

_Flemeth laughed at the sight of the young woman shaking her head. "It isn't a question of carnal pleasure, Master Hawke," she told Carver. "That elf is a slave who thinks he's free, but he has submitted to the will of this young lady here. Tell me, mage," she purred, "how did you manage to enslave the young wolf?"_

" _I didn't… He's not my slave," Irina babbled._

" _I'm willing to believe he doesn't know he is your pet, but he is." The witch sauntered over to the young woman. "I can smell it, you know? The_ umbra… _The dark energy from the lyrium engraved in his flesh. A technique from Tevinter. He's slowly imprinting on you."_

" _Wouldn't that make_ her _the pet, then?" Varric asked, speaking for the first time._

_Flemeth shook her head. "Submission is part of his nature. He has willingly left his master behind, but he's also willingly accepted a new one."_

" _It could just be love," Varric shrugged._

" _Varric!" Irina protested, blushing._

" _Such a foreign emotion," Flemeth pondered. "But there cannot be love if there isn't acceptance of the self. What I can see is that this young mage," she said, pointing to Irina, "uses him to complement what she lacks, and he does the same. He needs a master. Ah, but what do I know?" she laughed. "I'm merely an old woman."_

" _One that talks too much," Carver muttered._

_Flemeth smirked. "Prove me wrong. Offer him gold for his services. If he takes it, then I'll have been wrong. If he refuses to keep the money…"_

…

Carver sighed. Irina had beaten herself up about it for days, and she had refused to be around Fenris. That was not hard to accomplish, since she mostly kept to the house and was always accompanied by either Leandra or Gamlen, and sometimes even Merrill. His sister had grown fond of the Dalish mage, and Carver couldn't help but feel satisfied about it. He wanted to laugh – what was it about the Hawkes and the elves, anyway? He remembered that Bethany's first infatuation had been with an elf from the Lothering alienage. He still remembered how she had asked their father for a spell that would make her ears more agreeable to elves.

He smiled. Merrill was a nice girl. They spent more time in her house than in his because Gamlen had started grumbling again. He liked his privacy, and Carver tried to respect that. He had told his uncle that once he returned from the Deep Roads, he would compensate him for the inconveniences they had caused. Gamlen had muttered something about having Irina and Leandra around not being that bad, but Carver preferred not to push his luck, so he met the rest of his companions at the Hanged Man. The only problem there, he sighed, was Isabela.

…

" _Why are you doing this?" Carver gripped her by the wrist when he noticed her hand crawling up his thigh._

" _What? I'm not good enough for you now, am I?" She took off her blue bandanna and tied it around her neck. "Would you prefer it if I dressed up like her? Shall I play mage for you? I may need to borrow your staff…"_

" _Stop it. You're… You're above this, Isabela." Carver walked away. "Why are you giving me such a hard time? Should I remind you that you're the one who didn't want to get serious in the first place?"_

_Isabela stood up and scoffed. "Men… You always think our worlds revolve around you."_

" _Well then, help me understand. You promised you'd come with me to the expedit–"_

" _I never promised I_ would. _I said I_ might."

" _Isabela…"_

" _Don't press me, Carver," she snapped. "I'm… I'm not meant to be in enclosed spaces."_

" _Or in a relationship?" Carver asked. "Is that what you mean? Everything makes you feel trapped… But you enjoyed what we had. You seemed to, at least."_

" _I can fake it," she replied._

_He crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, you had me fooled. What do I know, right? I'm just a stupid farm boy to you."_

" _That's not true," she said sadly. "We can be friends. Just… Don't ask me about going with you, because I can't. And don't ask me about being with you, because I can't do that either. You care for her. Merrill."_

" _I do," he admitted. "But I probably wouldn't have if you'd agreed to mar–"_

_She pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head. "That's not me, Carver. I'm… I'm sorry." She rested her forehead against his chest and his arms surrounded her one last time. "If you take her with you, she will suffer. Elves were not made to be under ground. I will take care of her, my friend. For you."_

…

Varric would kill him. Little by little, he had failed to recruit those he had thought would accompany him. Aveline, Isabela, Irina, Merrill – they were out of the question now. More than ever, he'd have to secure Anders and Fenris, and he had half a mind to ask Sebastian to come along. After all, the brother had offered him his services. But he suspected that the Grand Cleric wouldn't allow him to leave the Chantry for so long.

It wouldn't be long now. Carver had already collected the money of the expedition. The fifty sovereigns had been given to Varric a week before. But Carver had asked for more time to collect more coin for his family. Leaving them behind should not mean making them go through hardships, not if he could help it. He knew now that it wasn't just the money for them that was holding him back. A strange feeling had taken over him, as if he was about to embark on a journey that would change him forever. He blamed Flemeth for that.  _"Were the two of you to step inside that place, one would not return. One would have their life changed forever."_ He grunted and rubbed his face. Wicked witch.

He heard someone moving around in the other room, as silently as possible. Irina was up already. He carefully got down from the upper bunk bed and walked to meet his sister.

* * *

Fenris lay on the settee. He'd woken up hours ago, but there was nothing planned for him to do, no reason at all to leave the house that day. He snuggled under the blanket and stared at the dying embers. It wasn't supposed to be so cold. Perhaps it was the house. It was too big for him alone. Walking down the corridors and rooms made him feel the wait. Something had to change. He couldn't just stay there and lick his wounds. He'd have to come out and find Danarius, and leave that life behind once and for all.

 _What for?_  A voice inside him always seemed to ask that question. What made him wish to be different? He was free, wasn't he? There were no shackles holding him back, no whipping; nobody preying on his sleep or denying him meals…

He kicked the covers out of his way and stared at the ceiling. "What is it, Fenrrris?" he asked himself out loud, letting his tongue roll out the Rs in a sardonic way. "What is wrrrong with you?" He rested his head on his arm and looked up. Even though the rest of the mansion was still standing strong, it could certainly do with some repairs. "What for?" he asked quietly, pulling the covers over him again. The scent of herbs and flowers that she had left in the blanket had long vanished, but he could still smell it, sense it…

He hadn't seen her for days now, only from afar. She was always accompanied by someone. Not that he needed to find her on her own, but still, it made him feel uncomfortable. As if he was a weird thing, something embarrassing to hang out with.

He fell asleep again, and was awakened by a ray of sunlight right in the eyes. He frowned and turned around, but there was no point in going back to sleep now. He yawned and stretched. It was still the same day. What to do?

He left the house and walked to the passageway to Darktown. Since they had aided the Coterie to get rid of the competition and Varric had managed to negotiate a deal with them, strolling around that area had become safer for the group. He felt relieved. He didn't enjoy fighting for his life every single time he wanted to visit the clinic, though it provided him with the perfect excuse to do so.

The lantern was lit, and so he entered. The clinic was unusually quiet that day. Anders was sitting at the back, reading something thoroughly. Fenris cleared his throat.

"Come in. I'll be with you in a moment," Anders said without looking up.

Fenris looked around. The place had improved a bit. There was an area dedicated to herbs, which got rid of the smell quite effectively. Some crates were neatly organized – potions, bandages, ointments; Anders seemed to have everything he needed to do his job.

"She's not coming today," the mage said. Fenris turned around to look at him. He was still reading, quill in hand, making corrections to a parchment.

"Is that why the clinic's so quiet?" Fenris asked, refusing to acknowledge that he was there for a certain 'she'.

Anders nodded. "She sometimes cooks for them. Nothing fancy, just soup. In those days we're flooded with children." He smiled. "She likes them. She'll be a great mother someday, if she ever decides to settle down."

"Why wouldn't she?" The elf's fingers were tracing the edge of a barrel.

"Are you interested, then?" Anders raised an eyebrow and a smile appeared on his lips. "Should I tell her?"

"No," Fenris replied, rubbing his fingers together.

"No to which question?"

Fenris stared at him. "Are you going on the expedition?"

Anders left the quill and turned to the elf. "Yes, though honestly, I'm not quite convinced. I'm sorry that Carver decided not to take her along. He says she's not ready. And I understand that, I really do, but I was hoping that since there would be others, well… She could get some serious combat training." He stood up and took two tankards from a shelf. He filled them up with ale and offered one to Fenris. "The Roads are not for everybody, that's true. But I really think we could have had a nifty journey if all of us had agreed to go."

Fenris sipped the ale and remained quiet. Anders took it as an invitation to keep talking. "Irina and Merrill will take care of some of the people in my absence. We've yet to decide where, though, since many humans walking around in the alienage would make the elves feel uncomfortable, and Uncle Gamlen wouldn't appreciate the crowds in his hovel either. I was thinking of having them run the clinic, but…"

"Wouldn't that be unnecessarily dangerous?" Fenris asked.

"A tad. Isabela and Aveline will keep an eye on them, and Leandra will be around as well, but what worries me is the fact that we're not leaving women here – we're leaving mages." Anders stared at the contents of his tankard. "I don't think that Carver would like to return only to find that his sister and his lover have been 'asked' to join the Circle."

"Are they…? Carver and Merrill…?"

"Not yet. But I'd never seen him so interested in someone, and she's obviously grateful for his assistance. He makes her laugh. I've seen her smiling whenever he's around. If that's not interest, I don't know what it is."

"You make Irina laugh," Fenris blurted out before burying his face back in his drink.

"That I do, yes. She's sweet and kind. She's not gorgeous, but she's so nice that you can't help but feel that you could fall in love with her."

"I wouldn't know…" Fenris muttered. Anders put down his tankard on the shelf rather violently.

"Oh, come on! Do you think we're blind? The elf that despises mages willingly helps a mage to balance her energy? Pfft. Don't be ridiculous."

"Should I not help her?" Fenris grunted.

"No need to be resentful, but I don't like dealing with hypocrites," Anders snapped. "If you feel something for her, let her know before it's too late. You never know what may happen tomorrow. Well, except that we do. We're leaving tomorrow."

Fenris stared at the mage for a while. "I don't know what to think," he finally said, lowering his eyes. "I'm not sure what I… What she makes me feel."

"Afraid that it's only gratefulness because she saved your life once?" Anders asked. "You made up for that when you saved her back in Sundermount. There. The debt has been repaid. The slate is clean. What holds you back, Fenris?"

"Nothing holds me back," the elf grunted quickly.

"Well then, prove it!" Anders's amber eyes were defiant. Fenris emptied his tankard and stormed out of the clinic.

* * *

"Mahariel and Tamlen… They were such good friends. I envied them." Merrill's hands leafed through a book that she'd brought along, a chronicle of her history with her clan. "Mahariel's heart broke when Tamlen disappeared. He became a ghost of the man he'd been. He died of the sickness shortly after."

"That's terrible." Irina had seen the humanoid figures that had attacked them on their escape from Lothering, but part of her had refused to see that they came from humans, elves, and dwarves. "I can't imagine the reaction of the clan."

"It was like losing an arm," Merrill said wistfully. "You're still working, but the scar will always be there. You'll never forget it." She looked at her companion. "But forgive me; here I am, talking about my people, and you've lost so many back in Ferelden!"

"Many people, yes. But unlike clans, we're not really connected to them. It's our families that matter. My father and my sister died before the Blight. So at least we had time to mourn them in peace. My sister had a baby, a stillborn. That was…" Irina's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," she chuckled sadly. "I thought that after a couple of years, it would be easy to talk about it." She took a red handkerchief from her purse and wiped her tears.

"That is a beautiful thing," Merrill commented.

"This? Bethany embroidered it," Irina smiled. "Red was her colour. I always thought it was perfect for her. She was fiery; so full of life…"

"Same as Tamlen. I always wished I could be like him. Fearless, you know?"

The two women smiled at each other across the table. Irina was about to ask about Carver when there was a knock on the door.

"That must be your brother," Merrill said gleefully. She dashed to the door and opened it. She closed it immediately after her, leaving the visitor outside.

"What's wrong?" Irina asked, having stood up.

Merrill tiptoed all the way back to her companion. "It's Fenris!" she whispered excitedly, making Irina blush. "I think he's come here for you! Creators, how romantic!"

 _"Merrill!"_  Irina's face was red now. "I swear, you have the strangest ideas!"

"What should I do? Should I let him in?"

"Well, you've shut the door in his face," Irina replied. "I think he knows you're in the house. Just a hunch."

"I know! I'll show him in, and then I'll casually mention that I have to buy something, so that you two can be alone!"

"That's not what I want!" Irina pleaded, holding on to Merrill's hand, but the elf had detached herself and was already opening the door.

"Come in, Fenris! Don't mind the… Well, I've seen your house. I shouldn't be ashamed of mine, honestly. Do you know Irina? Why, of course you do, silly me. I'm… Er… Would you like something to drink? We were having some herbal infusion; I could have something concocted for you."

"No, thanks," Fenris replied as he watched the woman at the back of the room, who was distractedly turning the pages of a huge book.

"Sooo… What brings you here? Should I leave you two alone?"

"Merrill…" Irina sighed. The Dalish mage turned to her friend and winked.

"Okay, I'll leave you two alone!"

As soon as the door was closed, Fenris turned to Irina. "I have the feeling that everyone knows something that I do not."

"I don't imagine what that could be," Irina said quietly.

Fenris gazed at her sadly as he took off his dark cloak. "You have been avoiding me," he murmured, causing her to look up.

Irina's heart skipped a beat. She'd never seen him so vulnerable. She felt ashamed by her actions until she remembered why she'd carried them out. She cleared her throat discreetly. "I've been busy, what with the preparations before Carver's departure. And Anders's, and the clinic..."

"Ah. Of course," he said. He watched her leave the book on the shelf, her face turned to the other books that had been sorted out there. She was wearing a grey and brown dress that reminded him of the combination of her eyes and hair. As she raised her hands to pick up another book, the low neckline of her dress revealed a beauty spot on the base of her neck, something small and delicate. Fenris instantly reached out to touch it, but then she turned around.

He lowered his hand, utterly embarrassed. He didn't know what to say. Hadn't he said all he wanted to say already? He felt as if he had. Though perhaps…

"Have I troubled you in any way?" he asked. "Are you still in pain when you do your magic? I thought I was helping…"

"You helped," Irina blurted out. "But I can't keep asking you to do it. I'm slowly getting better. Anders's tonics are helping me. I don't want you to do it anymore." She stared at him and saw the pain in his green eyes. Not disgust, like the first time they'd met. Not confusion, like those first months of talking and walking together from the clinic to the Rose. It felt like sorrow. Was it possible that he was sad? "Don't do this to me, Fenris," she said weakly, as she covered her face with her hands.

Flemeth's words came back to her. He was only looking for a master, and he'd found one that needed him. But he wasn't an instrument. He was a person. She didn't want him to believe that his lyrium was the only thing that was worth something.

"Why didn't you take the money?" she asked. She saw him frown. "The money that Carver offered you when we returned from Sundermount. Why didn't you take it?"

He shrugged. "I didn't want to take it."

"Why not?"

"I… don't know. I didn't feel it was necessary. I was only doing what I had to–"

Irina groaned and walked away. She stood in front of the fire.

"You don't pay Anders for his services, why would you pay me?" he asked.

"Because Anders doesn't do things out of a sense of duty!" Irina exclaimed. "He does them because he wants to do them!"

"And so do I!" Fenris blurted out. "I do things because I want to! I help you because I want to! I spend time with you because I want to! Do you think that I follow you around like a lost puppy? Like a pet?" He stopped talking when he saw her look away. "Is that the way you see me?"

"No, I…"

"Do you think I'm playing the part of the slave here?" he asked. When she remained silent, he snorted. "I see." He stepped back. "If that is what I am to you–"

"That's not what I want you to be!" Irina cried.

"Then what do you want me to be, huh?" Fenris asked, standing right in front of her. His eyes were flashing angrily and his body felt as warm as the fire behind him. "What do you want me to be?" he repeated, this time more quietly, moving even closer to her.

She felt them again – ripples of cold and heat striking her body, crawling up and down her spine, making her skin burn with a sensation that she'd never known before; one that mystified her. Without intending to, she laid her hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat under the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Silly man," she said softly. "You're not wearing your armor. The last time you left the mansion dressed like this, things didn't go well for you."

"I think they went fine enough," he replied, feeling dazed. This was the closest they'd ever been on their own, without anyone trying to kill them. Safe and warm. That was how it was supposed to be.

"I don't want to be your master, Fenris," she explained. "I don't want to be a distraction in the field. You are far kinder to me than I ever thought anyone could be. I don't want you to feel that you _have_  to do anything."

"I know that," he said, stroking her cheek. She felt soft. Her fair skin looked even fairer next to his, and something in that contrast made him want to see the rest of her. "I enjoy being with you. Is that so hard to believe?"

"It is," she confessed. "I'm a mage. You despise mages."

"You're no magister, and you're unlike the other mages we've encountered."

"Only because one is a repentant blood mage and the other is the host of a spirit?"

"That could be it, yes," Fenris smirked. He saw her smile. "Irya…" he said.

"Hmm?"

"I did ask a question, though." He nuzzled her. "What do you want me to be?" he asked softly.

As Irina closed her eyes, feeling his breath on her skin, she heard Merrill shouting outside. "Carver, I wasn't expecting you so early! What a surprise!"

Fenris looked around, seeing that the only way out was also the only way in. "The other room!" Irina whispered as she took the cloak and threw it to him. Fenris dashed into Merrill's chambers and took a turn past the latrine, into a little room where she had placed all sorts of Dalish mementos.

"Carver," Irina greeted him. Her brother walked to her and kissed her on the forehead. He frowned.

"Irya, your cheeks… They're flushed!" He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, but she moved it away. "Are you feeling well?"

"Perhaps I've been standing too close to the fire," she shrugged. "Did you come to walk me home?"

"I thought we were going to have dinner here?" Carver raised an eyebrow.

"Oh!" Irina looked at Merrill. "I… forgot about that!"

Merrill fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "I did too! I have no food to offer, unless you want rat. There are a few hanging around."

"That's no good. Do you want me to do something about it?" Carver asked as he headed for the other room.

"No, no!" Merrill cried out. "No need! They're… friendly! Make me feel less lonely, to be fair… Poor things… They used to live here; I can't just evict them…"

"Why don't we all go for dinner at the Hanged Man?" Irina suggested. "Aveline will be there tonight, won't she?"

"Yes, yes – the Hanged Man! And I could ask Isabela to teach me that card game!"

"I wouldn't test Isabela's patience for the moment," Carver said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just… Let her be, all right?"

"I made something for Varric and Anders, but I left it home. Could you walk me there?" Irina asked impatiently.

"What about Merrill?" her brother asked.

"Oh, I've got some things to do. I'll meet you at the entrance of the alienage in a while, yes?" Having said that, she shooed the Hawkes out of her home and closed the door behind them. She let out a sigh of relief and waited. Fenris peeked out. "Well?"

"Well what?" Fenris droned.

"Don't be shy. Was it worth something, at least?"

In spite of himself, Fenris's lips curved into the shadow of a smile.

* * *

They were loud and boisterous. Even Aveline, who usually contained herself, was drinking as much as Isabela was, and laughing at Varric's bawdy stories. Anders was sitting at the end of the table, talking to Irina quietly. Fenris was next to Varric, occasionally glancing in their direction. Irina seemed to have a certain glow that night, and he wanted to believe that there was something special between them. Something he'd never had. Something that didn't seem impossible now.

All they had to do was survive the Deep Roads.

As they bade goodnight, Irina presented Anders and Varric with a little purse that she had made and asked them not to open until they had started the journey.

"What did you get the elf, then?" Varric jested.

Irina detached the purse from her cinch and left it in Fenris's hands. "Bring it back to me," she murmured. Their eyes met one last time, and then Carver and his sister were gone.

As soon as he got to the mansion he opened the purse. There was a red handkerchief inside, richly embroidered, filled with her scent. He held it in his hand and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

When Irina woke up the next morning, Carver had left. Leandra's cheeks were still moist after reading the letter that he'd left behind.

…

_Dear Mum and Irya,_

_I'm not much of a writer, you already know that. I don't say my goodbyes very gracefully either. Especially not when I'm not so sure about when we'll be returning._

_I'm not going to lie. This can be more difficult that we were initially led to believe. It was never about the coin. I made a deal with someone in the merchant's guild and they offered to give me the money to invest in the expedition, which means that everything I've managed to gather is still there for you to use, in case…_

_And that's the thing. I don't want to write the words that have been living in my head for some weeks now. All I wanted was to have more time with you two. I'm glad I can say I had that._

_The coin's on a hole in the beam that's right on top of my bed. Use it well, Mom, and keep Irina safe._

_I love you both._

_C._

…

Irina dashed to Carver's bunk bed. It was a good thing that Gamlen was not there that morning. She climbed the steps and fumbled about. She stopped when she found the pouch. Around seventy sovereigns fell from it, their clink foreign and cold.

"He didn't need to leave," Irina told her mother quietly. "We could have petitioned… He didn't have to go!"

Leandra looked at her daughter calmly. "It was his choice, baby. Carver is a man. He needs to do this."

"How can you say that?" Irina whispered. "He's your child! The eldest! He's been fighting for us for so long… Oh, Maker… If something… If something happened to him…"

Leandra held her daughter in her arms and stroked her hair softly. Irina's sobs filled the room.

"I don't know what I'd do without him," Irina cried.

* * *

"This is it, people!" Bartrand's voice seemed to be deeper, right at the entrance to the Deep Roads. "We're just common men now, but we'll be kings when we return!"

"Are we ready?" Carver asked his group. They all nodded. "Let's get going, then."

…


	7. Blind me

A week passed, then another. Irina prayed for their safe return. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be down there, with no sunlight or fresh air. Darktown was surely nothing compared to the Deep Roads, and even though she was grateful to her brother for not taking her along, she couldn't help but feel uneasy. Carver was on her mind every morning when she woke up. She thought of Anders as she worked in the clinic, aided by Merrill and Leandra and guarded by Isabela and more and more often Sebastian, who commended her for her good deeds.

But it was at night, before going to sleep, that she would put all other thoughts aside and think of Fenris. As she closed her eyes, she recalled his image. His voice, his eyes, his warmth and strength. Flemeth had called it 'imprinting'. Irina was willing to believe that if he had done that, it hadn't been through his energy, but through his actions. The warrior that she had initially feared and pitied had become the man that she wanted to spend time with.

She didn't want to get ahead of herself. There had been very little between them to expect anything from him when he returned. That didn't stop her from wishing and hoping. His words, his touch – everything made her tremble with excitement and anticipation. She wondered if he would be ready to leave his life with Danarius behind, though. She knew that he was still waiting to be ambushed, and she dreaded the thought of that ever happening.

* * *

"How are you holding up, Blondie?" Varric asked as he cleaned the smaller gears in Bianca. They had stopped for a long rest after finding a quiet spot.

"Much better now that we're done with the Darkspawn in the area," Anders replied, letting his hair down and massaging his scalp. "I'd kill for a bath, though."

"You and me both," Varric muttered.

"Now there's a thought…" Carver teased, sitting down by the small fire Anders had lit.

"Very funny, Hawke," the dwarf grunted.

"What's the matter, Varric? Think you're the only jokester? You can give it but you can't take it?" Carver sniggered.

"Well, aren't you on fire today?" Varric ironized. "Don't think about sex too much. Isabela's not here to satisfy your needs."

"Varric, I'm surprised," Anders intervened. "That's old news –  _Merrill_  is the chosen one."

"You and Daisy? How'd I miss that? Well, well, well…" Varric chuckled. "You'll be barking up that tree for a long time, mister. Gonna get a case of blue balls before anything happens."

Carver smiled but said nothing. Fenris watched him and then his eyes turned to Varric, who was still waiting for a stronger reaction. The dwarf dropped the piece of greasy cloth he was holding and stared at Carver. "You dog."

"What," Carver replied casually.

"You did it. You bedded Daisy."

Carver scoffed. "How… How could you possibly know–?"

"Don't you think I know that if it wasn't true you would have teased  _me_  about having less sex than Justice? No offense, Blondie. Though I do wonder if touching yourself would count as sex for–"

"And that's an image I don't want to see…" Fenris muttered.

"Where was I? Oh yes, Daisy! Well, what are you waiting for? Do tell! We're just a bunch of lonely guys here, y'know. We could do with some stories."

"Actually, that should be reason enough for him  _not_  to say anything," Anders pointed out. "Getting frisky in the Deep Roads gives a whole new meaning to the 'deep' part."

"How classy…" Fenris droned.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not like this around Irina. We don't talk about sex much. I don't want to spoil her for when you two have your first–"

"Say that again?" Carver arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, just shut up, Anders," Fenris groaned.

"Tell us about Daisy!" Varric pressed Carver.

"Will you stop it, ladies?" Bartrand boomed from behind. "Ancestors, I swear! If we'd brought along the women you left behind, at least we'd have some good bodies to ogle, and we'd be able to turn a deaf ear to the inane chatter! Varric!" he called.

"Yes, brother?"

"How long before we can retake the blocked road?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Bartrand," Varric muttered. Being down there for such a long time with his older brother made him feel that his patience was running thin. He didn't have the same love for all things dwarven that Bartrand had brought along when House Tethras had been cast out to the surface. Every day that they spent down there, there was only one thing in Varric's mind –  _'Please let us find something truly valuable so that we can get the heck out of this place soon.'_

"I'll show you two the new route after the detour," Anders offered, having recognized the murderous look in Varric's face. After the headaches he'd gotten with the Darkspawn swarming about, the last thing he needed was unnecessary arguments.

Fenris watched them walk away. For a moment he wondered if it was better to follow them, but the close proximity of someone who was now burning through his skull with his eyes told him that it would be more than difficult to escape Carver.

He turned around reluctantly and found his companion's blue eyes staring at him. He sighed.

"I suppose you want an explanation…" he started.

"That would be nice, yes. Though the thing that interests me the most is how long this has been happening."

" _Nothing's_  happened. Anders's got a big mouth, that's all."

"Well then… Do you like her?" Carver asked directly.

* * *

"Well, that's a difficult question, isn't it?" Irina said, grinding some seeds for a concoction. "I'm afraid I don't know as much about Andraste as I would like, but it just seems odd to me that elves are not contemplated by the Chantry."

"But it is true that the Chantry's arms are open to all those faithful and in need, regardless of their race," Sebastian pointed out. "Why, there's even a dwarf who represents our Faith in Orzammar. We received word of it a few months ago."

"I thought dwarves revered their paragons and ancestors, the way elves venerate their multiple creators." She raised her eyes and smiled at the sight of Merrill talking to the plants that Anders had grown in the little sunlit patch.

Sebastian watched Irina work in silence. Her pale hands moved quickly, as if they'd always performed that task. He knew that Anders was instructing her in the ways of magic, and he'd initially been doubtful of the healer's intentions with the younger Hawke, but seeing her move around the clinic made him think that she was being given the right kind of training.

"Aren't you needed at the chantry?" Irina asked him.

"Is my being here bothering you?" he asked back.

"No, I didn't mean… You're always welcome to help or simply be here, Brother," she replied, blushing slightly.

Sebastian smiled. "Your cheeks hide a secret, Miss Hawke. Is there something you would like to confess?"

Irina shook her head and chuckled. "Trust me, Brother. You don't want to know."

Sebastian cocked his head as he put the bandages away. "Those words tend to make the listener even more curious," he said quietly.

"Oh, you are a smart man. You must have noticed that every time you're here, Isabela stays at the back, sketching…"

Sebastian looked behind him. The pirate was sitting on a high stool, holding a board and a piece of parchment on it in one hand and some charcoal in the other. She waved at him cheerfully. It was Sebastian's turn to blush furiously when he understood the possible implications of such action.

"She's… Has she been doing that for long?"

"She started working on a story during a night you spent with her at the docks–"

"I wasn't alone with her," Sebastian said quickly.

"Oh, I know." Irina shut her mouth and ground the seeds and herbs more vigorously.

Sebastian was quick to catch her change. "Miss Hawke… Have  _you_  seen the drawings?"

"It's hard not to," Irina confessed. "She's been showing them to everyone."

"Andraste's blessed heart," he murmured, dismayed.

"I wouldn't take a look at them, if I were you," she said sympathetically.

"Trust me, Miss Hawke: that's the sort of thing that I really don't want to see," Sebastian replied.

* * *

"This doesn't feel right," Anders muttered. "I can feel it in my bones."

Fenris nodded. "This is lyrium, but… Not the normal kind." He walked towards one of the veins, blood red and intensely bright. He felt the humming of the lyrium as a dull  _thump_  that seemed to beat along with his heart.  _Thump thump thump,_  humming louder and louder, filling his ears. So bright, so powerful… He reached out to touch the vein, but someone pulled him back.

"What do you think you're doing?" Anders yelled. "Are you insane? This is not right!"

Fenris shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "I'm… I shouldn't have done that."

"Of course you shouldn't have!" Anders sounded furious. Fenris frowned. Why was the mage moving around so much?

"S-stand still..." he slurred. He felt as if his head was about to explode.

"He's not moving, Fenris," Varric murmured. Fenris turned to look at him, but Varric was nowhere to be seen.

"Maker, look at his eyes…" Carver's voice, coming from somewhere dark, somewhere that he couldn't see.

"Fenris," Anders called. There he was. He wasn't moving anymore, but… But it wasn't Anders either. The image of a tall figure standing in Anders's place. Blue and silver, with a dark core that seemed to be in turmoil. "Can you see me?" The figure took a step towards him, raising his hands to hold him by the head. "Can you?"

"I see the spirit within," Fenris replied. He set himself free from Anders's grip and fell on his knees, spewing bile.

Varric backed off, dragging Carver with him. Anders stood in front of Fenris alone. There was a curious expression in his face, as if there was something that he wanted to ask, but didn't quite dare to.

"Problems, little brother?" Bartrand sounded calmer than usual, and Varric and Carver looked at each other.

"The elf… Fenris… He just got sick. Whatever you do, don't touch the lyrium. Don't even get close to it. And tell Bodahn to keep an eye on Sandal – if he wanders and gets lost in here, I'm not sure we'd find him alive again."

Bartrand stared at his brother and then looked around. It was hard to tell if he'd even listened to what Varric had said. Carver shuddered. "I don't like this. Not one bit."

"You're not alone in the sentiment, Hawke," Varric muttered. He was watching some of the hirelings that had been following them, and there was something odd: it looked as if they were dazed, and he was almost certain that if they put more distance between them and the group, the others would probably lose their way. He turned around and saw Fenris still on his knees. "Blondie… Can he go on any time soon?"

"He needs a moment to rest," Anders's voice replied. "He is crossing planes."

Carver looked at Anders. No, not Anders. That was surely Justice, burning inside his companion. His glow was different from Anders's normal one. For the first time since they had descended into that fiendish pit, he felt the grip of fear. Things were starting to go way over his head, and he took comfort in knowing that his sister was safe.

* * *

"Both of you, get in there and don't make a sound!" Isabela hissed as she pushed Merrill and Irina into Anders's hidden compartment – too small to call it a room, too narrow to stand there for long periods of time. The two women saw Isabela close the door and they stood still, holding each other. The heart of the young Dalish raced, but she was trying to breathe in and out slowly and quietly, and she sensed that her friend was doing the same.

They heard noises outside – surely the others were dragging things out of sight before the Templars arrived at the clinic. Sebastian's voice was soothing Leandra, who was in charge of looking after the sick. Irina was grateful for having him there, even though part of her kept expecting him to take her to the Gallows sooner or later. She wondered what Fenris would say of that. Considering his views on mages, he would agree that the Circle was a better option than letting them run free and amok. She wanted to laugh at how ridiculous she would surely sound if she could voice her thoughts, but the sound of the door opening made her forget about everything else.

A man's voice, giving instructions to others to search the place. Sebastian's quiet manners, explaining that they were not harbouring runaway mages from any Circle. Gamlen's request that they leave the place, for there were sick people there, with illnesses that could be contagious. Irina felt Merrill's forehead resting on her shoulder, their sweaty palms locked together, and she wondered why the elf was so afraid. She'd never seemed to be nervous about being caught before.

Isabela's voice. She was close to where they were, so they could hear her loud and clear. "And we're asking you to leave this place, serah. This clinic is run by a Grey Warden, and you don't want to meddle in their affairs."

"And I'm telling you that I can feel the dark powers in this place." The man's voice was dangerously low. Irina closed her eyes, trying to focus so that she could do what she knew best. They were moving. But who – friend or foe? In the darkness, she felt them: a leader and three followers.

Something had changed within her, though. She could see them all now – not only their spirits, but also their life force, red and alive. She gripped Merrill's hand in horror and Merrill covered her friend's mouth to prevent her from acting on her panic.

The bodies… The Templars were moving towards Isabela, but the bodies of the few sick and the people who were watching them –relatives, friends, other refugees– also started moving. The leader invoked the protection of his own vital energy, but as he was doing so, Irina felt Isabela disappearing. And then, a gurgle, a dying sound. Sebastian's desperate cry –"What have you done?!"– and Isabela's shout –"Gamlen!"– as the bodies of the people of the clinic swarmed the Templars and attacked them until their energies disappeared.

Merrill let out a frightened sob, but Irina found herself unable to move to comfort her. She waited until the door was opened for them, and she saw Gamlen's face, pale and sickened, and her mother behind him.

"Darling!" Leandra cried as she hugged her daughter. She noticed Merrill's hesitation but she beckoned her as well, and Merrill joined them in their embrace.

Over her mother's shoulder, Irina's eyes caught sight of the dead Templars, murdered by the refugees commanded by Isabela. She felt her uncle's hand over her head, patting her awkwardly. She felt as if she was supposed to be grateful, but she wasn't. People had died. People had turned into killers. All for them. She had helped eliminate spirits, hollow men, and abominations, but she had never seen a man killed before. She felt overwhelmed by sadness and impotence. All she had been able to do was watch them kill or watch them die. She wished she hadn't seen that. She wished her magic gone.

She felt someone was watching her. Sebastian. The look in his eyes was more than telling. He didn't approve of what had taken place there. Irina felt her cheeks burning with shame. Sebastian let out a deep sigh and stood by Isabela.

"What are we going to do with the bodies?" he asked matter-of-factly.

Isabela looked around. After a while she said, "Don't you think the plants look a little wilted? They could certainly use some compost..."

* * *

Fenris held the red handkerchief in his hand.  _Bring it back to me,_  she had said. But there would be no return. They'd been betrayed and left behind to die. Brother against brother. He'd always believed that humans were hard to trust, and it was even harder to trust mages, but the betrayal of the blood… That had to hit harder than any other.

He looked back at Varric, who looked both enraged and defeated, and he wondered which of the two would be his companion's doom. He'd watched him during the last battles. Something had broken within the dwarf, and there was a certain abandonment in the way he fought. Fenris had had to cover his back in more than one occasion, and Varric hadn't even noticed.

He knew what fighting for survival felt like. It was lonely. Not having something to protect other than your own life made you sloppy, careless. It numbed you, until you no longer saw what stood ahead of you. You just moved forward and cut whatever came your way.

The feel of the handkerchief between his fingers reminded him of Irina's softness and the warmth of her proximity. He knew now that he should have kissed her when he'd had the chance. He'd never kissed other lips without being commanded to do so, and this time he wished she'd told him to kiss her. It would have been much easier.

"We'll find a way out," Carver said, sitting behind him. He quickly hid the handkerchief inside the breastplate, but not fast enough for his companion not to see it. "That was Bethany's once," he said softly. "Irya cherishes it."

"I know," Fenris nodded. "She asked me to return it to her."

"With a little help of the Maker, we shall," Carver said firmly. He parted his lips to say something else, but he decided against it. Fenris was about to ask what he wanted to say, but a low rumble distracted him.

"Did you hear that?" he murmured.

"Get up, quickly," Anders commanded. "I think we have come too close to that area that the demon mentioned…"

"And we'd know what we could find if the elf hadn't gone through it with his sword," Varric barked.

"He did the right thing," Anders sentenced. "You don't want to make deals with demons."

"Like you're one to talk, Blondie," the dwarf grunted.

"Will you two please shut up?" Carver said, rubbing his forehead.

Varric sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm tired and hungry, and sick of eating mushrooms and chewing on the herbal pills your sister made for us so as not to feel hungry."

"We all feel the same way," Carver said, standing up. They felt the rumble again. "I guess this is it, then."

"What do you mean?"

"If the demon said the exit was guarded by something, all we have to do is kill that something. We killed a dragon, for Andraste's sake, and it wasn't even our first dragon!"

"True," Varric smirked. "Down here, we've definitely found some menacing chunks of rock. Damned golems."

"And don't forget the  _possessed_  chunks of rock," Fenris added.

"Spirits and rocks! Do you think we'll find something new?" Varric asked.

It took them one look at the monstrous thing standing between them and the exit to know that though they hadn't found something new, they'd certainly found something more dangerous.

* * *

"That can't be true," Leandra said. "Please, serah… Tell me that's not true."

"I am so sorry, Mistress," Bodahn said, shaking his head. "We tried to persuade him to go back for them, but he claimed that they were lost forever, and he told us that if we followed him, we'd come out of the Roads alive. I would have liked to stay and searched for them – even Sandal insisted that we should stay, but…"

"But you were afraid for your son," Leandra whispered. "Oh, how I understand you, serah…"

"That place was scary," Sandal commented, tugging at Leandra's heart. She didn't know what to feel. Everything but hopelessness. She'd already lost a child; she knew the pain. Somehow, she didn't feel like that after hearing about Carver's disappearance. It was only that: he had disappeared. There was always the chance that he would return to them. He would surely find a way to do that. He always did.

"Mistress, if there's anything we can do for you…" Bodahn said gently.

"Thank you, serah, but… There's nothing left for us to do but wait. I'm not sure how I'm going to convey the news to my daughter. I think she's almost lost her faith, and if I tell her this–"

"Tell me what?" Irina asked behind her.

"They are lost," Sandal blurted out innocently.

Irina looked at the dwarf. They would be travelling with the expedition; Carver had introduced her to them when they'd thought she'd be joining them. But if they were there…

"Do you mean... Carver?" she asked, agitated. "Mother?"

"Please, baby… Not now…" Leandra murmured, her eyes darting from side to side. If Irina lost her cool there, in the middle of the market… It could be dangerous for all of them.

"Miss Hawke, you must remain calm…" Bodahn pleaded. "It will do you no good to react now. Let us find a quiet place, so that I can explain–"

"Where are they? Fenris! Anders! Varric? All of them? Just tell me what happened!"

Sandal fumbled in a pouch and took out a small stone. He rushed to her side and offered it to her.

"What… What is this?" Irina asked. As soon as her fingers touched the rune, her body collapsed, unconscious.

"Irya!" Leandra cried out. "What did he do?"

Bodahn looked around. In the distance, he saw two Templars walking towards the area, which was starting to get crowded. "She's only asleep. Come on, we have to get her out of here, as fast as we can."

* * *

Irina opened her eyes. An unfamiliar ceiling greeted her, and then the sight of another bed, as simple as the one she was lying on, right in front of a screen. She rubbed her forehead – how had she gotten there in the first place? And then she remembered. Carver. All of them. Lost.

She sat up and groaned. She'd seen a blinding light and after that, darkness. A rune. The dwarf had given her a rune with a word of power.  _Sleep._  She blinked. That was not possible. Dwarves couldn't use magic. Was that dwarf an enchanter?

She heard hushed voices talking behind the screen. "Mother?" she called. Chairs moving. Her mother's face, and behind her, two dwarves.

"Carver?" Irina asked. Her mother crossed the room swiftly and held her daughter in her arms. How long would she be able to protect her if Carver didn't return?

* * *

Fenris left the bag on the floor. He wasn't sure if the load was heavy indeed or if he was slowly getting weaker. He guessed that both answers were accurate. "I don't see a turn to the right," he said. "Are you sure you're reading that map correctly?"

Anders walked up to where the elf was standing. "A bit further on, then. I just know that we're inconveniently close to the Warden outpost. I feel it in my skin."

"Inconvenient for you, perhaps," Fenris pointed out. "Some of us could sure do with some assistance–" He was startled by a bolt shot at the wall behind him. He turned around to see Varric pointing Bianca at him. "What did you do that for?"

" _All_  of us could do with some assistance. Not just 'some' of us. We're in this together."

"Of course we are," Carver said. "But Fenris and Anders had it rough down here, what with the temporary blindness and the awful headaches. And you… Well, you with your brother. I guess I was the lucky one this time."

"That you were, Hawke," Varric said, patting his companion on the arm. They continued walking until one pair of footsteps stopped.

"What's the matter, Blon–?" A familiar screeching made his blood curl.

"Well, we know we're close to the exit for sure," Carver said, dropping his bag and wielding his broadsword. "Darkspawn ahead."

"Not many, though," Anders said, summoning a wisp.

"You two, stay behind. Fenris, at my signal." Carver and Fenris charged ahead against the group. Some of the Genlocks had been trapped by Anders's hex. A few more fell before Varric's bolts. Their blades moved in unison, preventing the Darkspawn from advancing. A bolt of lightning disrupted them, and they saw Anders flinging a fireball at the magic-wielding Darkspawn.

As Carver dealt with the Hurlocks, Fenris ran his sword through the chest of a Genlock, using the body as a shield as he charged against the rest. Soon, the bodies of the monsters littered the floor, and Fenris chased the ones that were crawling away, driving his sword through their necks and finishing them.

"Well," Carver panted. "I hope we won't find another group like that any time soon. Or at least not before we have something to eat. Can't do this on an empty stom–" He heard hollow sniggering behind him and turned around to see a dying Genlock standing there. The beast sank its knife into Carver's side up to the hilt before Varric had time to put a bolt through its head.

Carver fell on his knees and pulled the knife out, casting it far from him. He pressed his side to stop the blood from flowing. Anders ran to his side.

"Stay with me," the mage pleaded as he laid his hands over the wound. "We're so close, Carver; so close…"

"Fenris…" Carver called, feeling Anders's magic pouring into him. Fenris's eyes stared at his companion, unable to understand what had happened. "Promise me…"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Big Boy," Varric grunted. "Blondie's already healing you." He noticed the worried look in Anders's eyes but preferred to ignore it.

"It hurts…" Carver winced.

"Well, of course it does, you big oaf! You had a bloody knife stuck inside!"

"The knife…" Anders whispered. "Fenris! Find the knife!"

Fenris looked around and found it. His fingers jerked when he bent down to pick it up. He had to muster all his courage to grab it by the handle and take it back to Anders. He left it beside the mage, who took a look at it and closed his eyes. Fenris saw him shake his head almost imperceptibly. Anders pointed to his satchel. "Pass me the amber flask," he asked Varric. But when he finally got hold of it, he hesitated.

"What is it?" the dwarf asked.

Anders didn't reply, but Carver saw the look in his face.

"It was corrupted, wasn't it?" he asked. "That's why it burns. I've been stabbed before… This feels nothing like that."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Varric asked, incredulous. "Anders… Is he right?"

Anders looked down. "Yes."

The silence that befell them was broken by Fenris. "You were going to poison him, weren't you?"

Anders looked up at the elf. "I was going to put him to sleep, and then kill him. It's the greatest mercy I could offer to a friend."

"What stopped you?" Carver asked. He didn't sound resentful or genuinely curious. There was only resignation in his voice.

"It's a long shot, but… We could find the Wardens. You could join them, if they let you in."

"Do they recruit people out of pity?" Fenris asked without malice.

"Carver's worth it. I'll vouch for him," Anders replied.

"I wonder how much your word is worth, though." Fenris looked at the young man on his knees. "But we can give it a try. Are you strong enough to stand up?"

"Of course I am," Carver winced, leaning on Varric to get back on his feet.

* * *

"What are you saying, honey?" Leandra's worried face made her daughter feel guiltier than she already did. "You're not serious, are you? Tell me you're not…"

"It's not insane… I saw you at the clinic. You were truly terrified. You could have died there. Everyone could have died there, just to protect us. People actually died!" Irina shouted. "It was unnecessarily dangerous, and I can't let that happen again. Carver's gone, Mother." She hid her face in her hands and cried softly. "He's gone, and he won't be here to protect us for the rest of our lives… And you don't deserve to be locked in this house… You've done too much for me already…"

"Darling…"

"I am serious," Irina said after a while, wiping her tears away with determination. "If the Templars come for me again, I'll go with them. I'll join the Circle."

...


	8. Just a smile

Knight-Captain Cullen checked the list one last time. More and more recruits were disappearing. Some leads placed them at the brothel; others mentioned Darktown. He'd tried to recruit others to help him investigate the matter, but Captain Emeric was busy looking into the disappearance of two mages, and Captain Thrask was doing the same in the alienage. Sometimes he wondered if being their superior was actually worth something. People rarely paid attention to what he said. He'd heard the rumors about him, and they were all true. How he'd survived the other Templars back at Kinloch Hold, when most of them had died at the hands of abominations, or even worse, they'd succumbed to their darkest desires and willingly consorted with those demons. How he'd been dismissed after suffering from a mental breakdown. How the Knight-Commander had made him her second-in-command in such a short time. He didn't care. If they actually asked him about what had happened, he'd speak to them freely. But nobody ever got too close to him.

So when the news about Keran and Wilmod arrived, especially after the disappearance of their captain in Darktown the week before, Cullen decided to make a move, even if he was on his own. No stone would be left unturned, and he would start with the undercity.

* * *

"The temperature seems normal, but are you sure you're feeling fine?" Irina asked, concerned. Merrill was paler than usual, and after the incident at the clinic she appeared to have become fearful.

Merrill wrung the scarf and looked down. "I've done something…"

Irina stared at her. "Mer… Blood magic again?"

The young elf winced as if the words had hurt her. "I did not mean…"

"Then why did you do it?" Irina sounded disappointed, and Merrill wondered if that was the right time to tell her what she'd done. "If Carver were here–"

"But he isn't," Merrill blurted out. "He's not coming back, is he? I can see it in your eyes. I know you know something, but you don't think you should tell me…" Her fingers caressed the edges of a box. There was a certain longing in that action that confused Irina. She knew that Merrill and Carver liked each other too much, and Leandra had even started to think of Merrill as a daughter. Before leaving, Carver had even hinted at the possibility of taking Merrill to live with them at the Amell estate. Irina had asked him if he planned to marry her, and Carver had replied that it depended on Merrill and whatever customs the Dalish had.

"I don't have anything against you," Irina finally said, more to herself than to her friend. "I mean… It's not about you…"

"But there's something you know, am I right?" Merrill's green eyes looked anguished. The shadows under them were more and more frequent.

"We don't know if he's coming back," Irina said. She told her what Bodahn had told them, but she tempered her story with her mother's hope that Carver would still find his way back to them. Even though she tried to sound calm, she saw Merrill's distress grow with every word. The elf looked stunned, and Irina regretted having told her about it in the first place.

"There's something you must know…" Merrill started, but she was interrupted by Sebastian's arrival at the clinic. The brother groaned when he saw the two women standing at the back of the room.

"For the love of the Maker, will there  _ever_  be a moment in which I can be pleasantly surprised to see you anywhere  _but_  here?" he grumbled as he strode towards them. "One of the merchants told me they saw a Templar in the area. It would make my life significantly easier if you two stayed out of trouble." He moved the crate in front of the secret door and signaled them to enter.

"No," Irina said firmly. "Not me. Hide Merrill if you can, but I won't go through that carnage again."

"Don't be silly," Merrill protested.

Sebastian watched her, a curious look in his eyes. "Are you finally willing to join the Circle?"

"Yes," the mage replied, not shying away from the brother's look.

Sebastian smiled. It was strange to see him like that, Irina thought. He'd smiled at her before, but this time it felt as if he was really looking at her, and not just as a parishioner or a magic disaster waiting to happen. She felt as if his eyes were looking past those things, seeing the woman within.

"You're worth keeping close," he told her after a while. "Now please, hide."

* * *

"This is no time for trials, Anders," Senior Warden Stroud said. "But I will give word to your Commander that you're alive. Whether he wants to seek you out or not is his problem."

"I appreciate it," Anders had muttered, a tinge of shame in voice.

Varric and Fenris were standing near Carver. For some reason, they couldn't think of something to say. It felt as if they were standing beside a dying man, and yet, he wouldn't be dying. Not if he survived the Joining, whatever that was.

"Stop looking so guilty," Carver grunted. "It wasn't your fault."

"This whole venture… Cursed from the very beginning," Varric muttered. "I always knew the Deep Roads would never be any good. And I appreciate your words, but _I_  found Anders and his maps. _I_ sought you out. Hard not to feel guilty, Hawke."

"Sometimes things happen," Fenris said quietly.

Varric stared at him and then smirked. "Well, that was deep."

"I mean it," Fenris insisted. "Who can say where the road will take you when you start walking? I had been running away from Danarius for years before I met Anso by chance. He smuggled me into Kirkwall and one night I heard someone talking about the Red Iron. You know the rest."

"Do you ever regret it?" Carver asked. "Putting your business with Danarius on hold?"

Fenris pondered for a while. "No. I guess I needed time to think things through. That does not mean that I've forgotten about him. Bringing him down is something I will do, however long it takes me."

"What will happen with my sister, then?" Carver's blue eyes appeared to be slightly feverish, but his voice remained calm.

"I will look after her," Fenris replied, but said no more.

"We all will," Varric said, patting Carver on the arm. "Looks like Blondie's done talking with the Wardens," he pointed out.

Anders approached them. "They are set to go," he said quietly. He was looking around, and his hands were fidgeting with the buckle of his belt. He was surprised to feel Carver's arms around him.

"Take care of her for me," Carver murmured in his ear. Anders patted him and nodded in silence.

They saw him limp away. One of his legs had started to go numb, and in spite of that, he had insisted on carrying his own bag. Varric had suggested that he should take the gold to compensate the Wardens for the detour he was forcing them to take, since according to Anders the Wardens were always in need of resources of all kinds. Carver had asked them to pay the investor back, lest his family got in trouble over his debt. But other than that, money was not something that would be of concern to him, ever again.

"Needless to say," Anders added, once Carver was gone and they were back in the surface, "everything we've gathered will go to his family. Well, everything minus what it takes to hire an assassin."

"You can say that again," Varric smirked. "Though I'm sure we're pretty good at the whole killing business by now, so we could save some money by looking for Bartrand ourselves."

"Why not? We've already got Danarius on our list," Anders joked.

"Danarius is mine," Fenris replied quickly. "When I find him, I'll be the one to carve his heart out of his sick body."

"Rather you than me," Anders murmured. "I've already got my hands full with the Templars…"

Varric stared at both men. He shook his head. "I'm always stuck with nutcases," he sighed.

* * *

"How did we get into this?" Aveline sighed.

"You mean how  _you_  got into this, don't you?" Isabela huffed as she turned around the body of a highwayman who had tried to kill them and looked for valuables. "Same way as me, I guess. Stupid promises we make…" She looked up and saw Irina giving her a guilty look. "Sorry, sweetcheeks, but it's true. Keeping an eye on you didn't mean that we had to follow you when you went out looking for danger."

"Mostly because you're not the type who goes on crazy ventures like this," Aveline pointed out.

"I couldn't say no," Irina lamented. "Macha's family was so nice to us when we first arrived in Kirkwall… Knowing that her brother was lost…" She blinked the sudden tears away. They were right; what was she thinking when she'd agreed to find the lost templar recruits? Had her judgment been clouded by her feelings for Carver?

"Well, let's see the positive side of it," Merrill smiled. " _We_  are chasing a Templar for a change!" Leaving the city had had a positive effect on her. Her cheeks looked rosier, and she seemed to have left behind the morose girl that she'd become since Carver had left.

Isabela arched an eyebrow. "That's the spirit, kitten."

"Why do you call her 'kitten'?" Sebastian asked.

"Well, isn't it obvious? She a cute little thing… With little claws that trap little men…"

"Shall we go on?" Irina asked nervously. Sometimes she hated the verbal exchange between her brother's lovers.

"Relax, little Hawke." Isabela was smiling. "If I hadn't learned to leave certain aspects of my past behind, I'd be a bitter old woman."

"I'm sensing that's directed at me," Aveline sneered.

"Oh, I'd never go behind your back, Lady Manhands. If I've got a problem with you, fear not, you'll know about it." Isabela patted the guardswoman on the back and winked.

The sound of struggle nearby caught their attention. Sebastian and Aveline dashed forward and found two Templars, with one having a clear advantage over the other. Sebastian looked at his companion, who nodded and yelled at them.

"Oh shit," Isabela muttered.

"What's the problem?" Irina asked.

"That guy… I know him from the Gallows. He's the Knight-Captain." She looked at both mages with apprehension. "I'm not sure it's wise to show off in front of him, you know? Stay here…"

Their voices mingled. Aveline's questioning of the recruit's mistreatment, the Knight-Captain's explanation, and Sebastian's shout. Irina rushed towards her companions, followed by Merrill. Neither of them expected to see the grotesque figure of an abomination breaking free from the body of the recruit, or the Shades summoned by it.

Merrill shouted something that Irina didn't understand, but it sounded Elvish. The ground seemed to come alive, and the grass seemed to stretch into tendrils that ensnared the Shades. Irina saw the Knight-Captain watching them, before he himself cast some kind of power that weakened the demons, but also threw the mages off balance. Merrill fared well, but Irina fell on her knees. Dazed, she shook her head, and looked up just in time to see the abomination targeting her. Sebastian dashed to her side and stood in front of her, giving her time to stand up and summon her wisp. She took a vial from her cinch and gulped it down, trusting that she'd gotten the right one.

She felt the liquid quickly rushing down her veins, firing her up.  _"A'ruinn'abasch,"_  she whispered, letting the word of power fill her up before transferring to the abomination, making it fizzle. The creature shrieked as the spirit power burned it from within. She concentrated on her second spell.  _"Math'ruy'carh'har,"_ she muttered, and raised her hands to hold the crushing prison in which the monster was trapped. Aveline and the Knight-Captain attacked it, whereas Isabela, Sebastian, and Merrill finished the other summoned creatures.

Panting, Cullen turned to them. "Wh-Who are you?"

"I'm the Captain of the Guard, Aveline Vallen, and these are my companions," she answered. "We're looking for one of your recruits, Keran. Family business."

Cullen frowned. "I wasn't aware… You were the one who exposed the corruption in Captain Jeven's office, weren't you? But I heard the Guard is still acephalous."

"It was shorter to say that Ser Aveline was Captain," Sebastian interceded. When Cullen looked at him, he added, "I'm Sebastian Vael, prince of Starkhaven."

The four women stared at him, eyes wide open. "Blimey," Aveline muttered.

"I've heard of you and what happened to your family,  _Brother_  Sebastian," Cullen replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "My condolences, though I must admit I thought you were sworn to the Chantry now." He'd hit Sebastian's weak point.

"I was given leave till I solved the situation in Starkhaven. That's my first duty," Sebastian replied, and then said no more.

Cullen watched Irina and Merrill. "A Dalish, far from her clan."

"And in a mission in their name," Merrill lied, without hesitation. She held Cullen's look defiantly. "Do you wish to talk to the Keeper of my clan?"

"It is not my mission to chase after elves… But I wouldn't go around giving out the location of your clan so easily if I were you. Others might be interested in it." Cullen's hazel eyes landed on Irina. "You, however… You're not a Circle mage."

"She's from the Circle of Ferelden," Isabela lied. "She's here on a mission as well."

"Oh really?" Cullen raised his eyebrows. "I used to be stationed at Kinloch Hold. Who was your mentor there?"

"Shit," Isabela muttered. Irina placed a hand on her arm and pressed it gently. She let out a sigh and looked at Cullen.

"I'm no Circle mage, Knight-Captain. I'm sure you can tell."

Cullen stared at her for a long time. "Captain?" he said to Aveline, without taking his eyes away from Irina. "Are you willing to vouch for this apostate's behavior?"

"We are," Sebastian replied in her stead. She nodded.

Cullen lowered his eyes. "Very well. I will overlook your use of magic for the moment. I'm more interested in finding out what is happening with my missing recruits." He told them about the leads that he'd found and how the Blooming Rose seemed to be involved. "The name 'Idunna' appeared recently in my investigation, but every time I go to the brothel to ask after her, she is not there. Perhaps you'll be lucky where I was not," he told Sebastian, who blushed.

"Me? In the brothel?"

"I know. I share the sentiment," Cullen said, shaking his head.

Isabela snorted. "Pfft. Prudes. I'll do it. She's a pretty little thing. Nice breasts. I saw her once. Couldn't afford her." The two men stared at her with a mixture of horror and fascination. She laughed. "I'm just joking. Though she  _does_  have nice breasts…"

* * *

They were camping. It was the last night before getting to Kirkwall.

"I still don't understand why we can't walk the last stretch tonight," Fenris grunted. "I didn't know I was traveling with such weaklings."

"Elf, the only way that we could travel at night and see shit on the road would be if we made you mad and you walked in front of us, with your glowing tattoos lighting the way." Varric laughed at his own occurrence.

"Very funny," Fenris scowled, stoking the fire.

"He doesn't only glow when he's mad," Anders said, looking at him through the flames. "He does it for Irya as well."

"Ooh, then it must be some question of the heat underneath…" Varric teased Fenris, who grunted but said nothing. "Come on, Broody. Tell us, what will you do with all the money you've made? Will you sweep her off her feet with one of the jewels?"

"There will be no sweeping involved," Fenris said distractedly. "Actual sweeping. Or any kind. Why are we talking about this?"

"Because now we have to care for her," Anders replied. "And it's our job to make sure that she's safe and happy. If you know her, then you know how she's going to take the news of Carver not coming back."

"That's why we're not that eager to get to Kirkwall faster," Varric muttered.

Fenris looked at both men. They were right. Knowing what her relationship with Carver was like, she'd be sad beyond words. With nobody there to protect her, however… He looked up at Anders. "Is there a chance that she might join the Circle?"

"What are you talking about?" the mage frowned.

"You may have changed her mind when it comes to magic, and I might have helped her out a bit with the pain, but… The only reason she's become more acquainted with magic is to help Carver. She was going to come to this expedition until we returned from Sundermount. If Carver's not there–"

Anders shook his head. "She didn't practice her spells for Carver. In fact, she learned the healing spell for you."

Fenris blinked. "What?" he said dryly.

"She saw me healing you one day in Darktown. That made her want to learn the word." Anders snorted and muttered, "I swear, people sometimes don't know what they have… Should I be so lucky to have someone who cares for me…"

"What? What would you do? Would you abandon your struggle against the Templars?" Fenris asked skeptically.

"No," Anders replied sincerely. "But at least I wouldn't be alone."

Varric watched the two men stare at each other in silence. Those two were more similar than they thought, and he hoped that one day they would put their differences aside. He knew that both were interested in Irina's happiness, and she seemed to be the kind of person who could bring them together. She was a little bland for his taste, but Varric attributed that to Carver's dominant personality. Any younger sibling would surely have been overshadowed by such a strong Hawke.

* * *

"What did she mean, Merrill?" Irina muttered, holding the Dalish by the shoulders and pinning her against a wall. The witch, Tarohne, had set her against the elf by mentioning the presence of another being within Merrill. "You promised you'd stop it! You said there would be no more blood magic–!"

"It's not a demon!" Merrill cried and hid her face in her hands. Irina let go of her.

Isabela looked at both women and then walked closer to Merrill. "Kitten? Is it… a baby?"

The party saw the elf nod, her face still hidden in shame. "I'm sorry…" she sobbed. "I should have said something before… I wanted to…"

Irina's eyes darted over the elf's face.  _A baby._  "Is it Carver's?" she asked.

"Of course it is!" Merrill cried, sounding slightly offended. "He was my only… I'd never…!" She saw Irina beam and wrap her arms around her. She let her resistance come down and circled the mage in a tight embrace. "What if he's not coming back, Irina?" Merrill asked. "We'll be so alone!"

"We'll be together," she replied. "You are part of the family, and your baby will be a Hawke. You'll never be alone again, Merrill."

Aveline cleared her throat. "This is all very touching, but…" She pointed to a gleaming sphere hovering nearby. "What are you going to do with the trapped recruit?"

* * *

"My sister already had the money to petition the Viscount for the restoration of our status," Gamlen explained to the three men. "My nephew left her enough to do so, in case…" He looked away and sighed. "He said this might happen." He rested his head on his hands. "Leandra and Irina… They thought that all of you were missing, possibly dead. The dwarf said so."

"What dwarf?" Varric asked, looking at his companions.

"The one with the strange son. He told Leandra about it; that's when Irina made her choice…"

"What choice was that?" Fenris asked.

Gamlen sighed. He told them about the Templars that had died in the clinic and how affected Irina had been after learning the news. "We told her that she wouldn't be a burden to us, but she said that if Carver didn't return, she'd join the Circle. You can imagine how distressed Leandra–" He stopped when Anders and Fenris stood up.

"Where is she now?" Anders asked.

Gamlen looked at them both. "She's at the Gallows."

* * *

"I knew, I  _knew_  we should have returned sooner!" Fenris shouted as they ran towards the docks. "But _no,_  we had to spend the night on the road!"

"It's nobody's fault!" Anders shouted back. "If anything, it's  _her_  decision! Her  _irrational, useless,_  unbelievably _stupid_  decision!"

"For once, we agree!" Fenris shouted over his shoulder. Varric had fallen behind, making them stop.

"You go on…" the dwarf panted, "without me… Ancestors… I think I'm gonna die…"

Fenris hesitated, but Anders pushed him forward. "You go. She needs to see  _you_  alive." The mage's amber eyes were serious, and without waiting for the elf to reply, he walked back to where Varric was about to pass out.

Fenris took one last look at his companions and dashed to the boats.

* * *

"Thank you for your assistance. Here," Cullen said, giving Isabela a sum of money, "for your trouble." He looked at Irina. "I've heard of your family's good fortune, Lady Amell. It was most… timely." His voice was low but not unfriendly. "I have yet to inform the Knight-Commander of your  _presence_  in the city. It speaks well of you that the Order has not had issues with you so far."

"And you won't," Irina replied. "All I wish to do is cause no trouble, and help the refugees in Darktown. If you ever think of me as an inconvenience, you know where to find me."

"Fair enough," Cullen bowed and folded his arms across his chest.

"You will not regret this, Knight-Captain," Sebastian smiled, surrounding Irina's shoulders with his arm.

"Irya…" Aveline muttered, elbowing her companion.

Irina turned to see what she had seen, and there he was; looking exhausted, thinner than she remembered, and awfully helpless.

"Fenris…" she murmured. She ran to him, but he stood there, immobile. She stopped right before him, her eyes wandering about his body. She reached out and touched his arm, seeing the familiar glow surrounding him. She looked at him and smiled. "You're here…"

"Please don't do it," he croaked.

"Do what?" she asked, confused.

"I know what I said about the Circle," he blurted out, "and what I think of those mages who do not abide by the rules. I don't like it. It's dangerous to have mages lurking out there, and I still think that they should be locked up."

"Fenris…" she murmured again.

"But I admit it. I'm a hypocrite. Not all mages should be part of the Circle. Not you." He cupped her face in his hands. "Not you."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, smiling.

He frowned. "But Gamlen said… Then… You're staying with–"

"Yes?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

"With your mother? At the estate in Hightown?" he finished, taking a step back.

In the distance, their companions were watching them. "I told you he wouldn't kiss her," Aveline sniggered. "Pay up."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, elf," Isabela grunted, taking a silver out of her purse and giving it to the guardswoman. Sebastian shook his head, unamused. He watched the scene with interest. It was after a short while that he realized that something was wrong. He strode towards them.

"What's going on?" he asked, resting a hand on Irina's shoulder. She was crying and Fenris was just standing there in front of her, not moving, not reaching out for her.

"I had to convey the news," Fenris muttered. "Carver's not coming back. He's joined the Grey Wardens."

Aveline frowned. "That's not possible. He'd never leave his family. If you're lying–"

"He was backstabbed with a corrupted blade. Joining the Wardens was the best option he had to survive." He looked at Irina helplessly and felt a bitter pang of jealousy. Sebastian was holding her, and the elf envied him. How easy it was for other people to touch, to  _sense,_  without having to deal with the pain of the proximity. "If everything goes fine, you'll receive word of it soon."

Irina nodded. "What about Anders and Varric?"

"They're fine. There's a lot we must tell you… Perhaps it would be best if we didn't do it here?"

* * *

The letter arrived two weeks later, in Carver's own handwriting. He wasn't sleeping well, but he was alive, and the news rejoiced his family. In time, Merrill went to live with them in the Hightown manor, but she insisted on not letting Carver know about the baby until it had been born. Leandra was ecstatic to know that her son was alive, that she would be a grandmother, and that her daughter would be able to live in the house where she and Gamlen had grown up.

Gamlen had come to the estate to live with them as well, and the old house in Lowtown had been transformed into a small clinic, where Irina could work with the poor in the area, and Varric could easily keep an eye on her.

After being told of the Templars that were fertilizing his plants, Anders was given a key to the Amell basement, in case he needed to make a quick getaway. Irina had offered him a place to live with them, but the mage had refused.

"Can you imagine what Fenris would do if I agreed to that? He already wants to rip my heart out for hosting a spirit, and if I lived with you…"

"Well, if he's jealous, he should do something about it," Irina replied. They were sitting at the pavilion in the garden. "Instead, he just sits there in that gloomy mansion and refuses to see me. I went there to talk to him, several times," she explained. "I felt there were many things unsaid between us."

"Such as…?" Anders's lips curved in a grin that Irina could not help but find contagious.

"Such as the things that Flemeth said when we were in Sundermount," she told him.

Anders sat back. "He knows about that. Varric told us everything."

"E-everything?" she blushed.

Anders nodded. "Even the dirty little dreams you've been having about the elf…" he whispered.

"Flemeth didn't say anything about that!"

"Hah!" Anders laughed, making her go red in the face.

"I mean…! There are no dreams!" She hit him on the arm. "Oh, you're a terrible man!"

Anders chuckled as Irina laughed. She looked genuinely happy. He knew that she felt something strong for Fenris. He shook his head. If only he was younger… If only Justice hadn't agreed to be hosted… He felt the spirit stir inside, reminding him that he was still there. Irina's presence had helped him so much already, and he knew that she'd always be there for him. Always.

"Mistress?" Bodahn's voice interrupted them. He and his son had come to live with them as well, talking about how Carver had saved Sandal and the debt of gratitude he had with her brother. "Master Fenris is here to talk to you. In private," he said to Anders, almost apologetically.

"No worries," Anders said, standing up. "I'll check on Merrill and then head for the clinic. Tell me, Bodahn: is there a chance I could borrow Sandal for an hour or two?" he asked the dwarf, as they walked away.

Irina remained in the pavilion until she heard his footsteps on the gravel path. She looked at him and saw him walking slowly towards her. She noticed that he was wearing boots, and that his clothes now consisted of a long black coat and something black and leathery underneath.

"It's been a long time," she said gently.

"I brought you this," he said, giving her a small purse. She looked at the contents and smiled.

"Beth's handkerchief. You remembered."

"Carver said it was important to you, and now that he's gone, I think it's best if you have it back, as you wished." His green eyes looked serious and something else, something that she couldn't identify.

"How have you been?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Fine. I've been… hearing things. About Danarius. More specifically, about the presence of a large group of slavers relatively nearby, somewhere along the Wounded Coast."

"Do you think he's here?" she asked, feeling her heart grow disquiet.

"I can't say. I must go and see if the rumors are true."

"I could–" she started saying, but he shook his head.

"I've already talked to Varric and Isabela about it. Sebastian has also agreed to come, since part of the information came from someone who used to work for the Flint Company. Besides, the baby will be born soon, and I'm sure Merrill needs you here."

"And what about you?" Irina asked boldly. "Don't you need me?"

Fenris lowered his eyes. "No," he said.

Irina clutched the purse in one of her hands and felt the sting of her fingernails on the palm of the other. "I see," she replied.

"I can't bring myself to put you in danger," he said. "I promised Carver I'd look after you."

"You did, didn't you? Well…" she said, smiling nervously, "don't you worry about me. I can protect myself. I have survived so far." She walked down the steps of the pavilion. "Thank you for letting me know that you'll be going away. I appreciate it. At least you didn't disappear again."

He grabbed her by the arm as she walked by his side. Her grey eyes refused to meet his look. "I don't need you, but I  _want_  you," he murmured in her ear, making her shiver. "I'd never wanted something, someone, so much in my life."

"Then why do you push me away?" she asked weakly.

"Because I don't know how to deal with people. I've never met someone like you. All my life, as long as I can remember… All I've known is hatred, all I've had was despicable feelings for your kind. And then you came along, with your doubts and fears, with your innocence and kindness, and I saw you. I see you..." He stood in front of her and raised her chin. "Even though people protect you and appreciate you, you're lonely, because they don't know how it feels inside. I see that, and I recognize that in me as well." His lips curved in a half-smile. "I'm… I don't know how to act, what to say. I don't know what I feel, but I know this: I want you." He rested his forehead against hers. "And I want you to be safe."

"Can't  _I_  want the same?" she asked, stroking his cheek. "Can't I want  _you_  to be safe? Can't I want to be with you?" She blushed as she said the last words. "Not 'be with you', but be with you… Maker, I say the most inconvenient things sometimes…"

Something in her frustration made him smile, surprising her. "When I return… We have much to talk about."

"You're not going anywhere without me," she replied hastily. He raised his eyebrows.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," she said, holding his hand. "You're not alone. I won't let you do this on your own." Having said that, she stood on the tip of her toes and kissed him on the lips. She felt soft and warm, and she smelled of embrium tea. He was so surprised by her action that he didn't kiss her back. All he did was stand there, stunned, until she pressed his hand. "Just promise that we'll wait until the baby's born, and Carver knows about it."

Fenris nodded, and followed her into the house.

...


	9. Before I fade

The fort in Tantervale was not grand, but it provided them well. And, Carver thought, after having spent weeks on the road, the idea of going back to a place that could be called 'home' was most comforting. He wondered if that was part of the Divine Plan that the Maker had for him – always wandering about, either alone or with others, but never in a place for long. As he unmounted, he chuckled. He was starting to sound like Sebastian. Perhaps it had been the stay in Starkhaven that had reminded him of his former companion.

He handed the reins to the stable boy and walked into the building. The others were there already. As he entered the common room, he saw them reading old letters and news that had arrived in their absence.

"There's one for you, dear," said Moira, the elderly housekeeper. "Delivered right after you left. I reckon it's old news anyway, because the messenger was caught in the Drakonis rains and it took him long enough to get here."

"Don't remind me," Carver shuddered. "Promise me you'll never try to climb a muddy mountain in Drakonis. Thank you, Moira." He took the missive and kissed the woman on the forehead. He went into the common chambers and took off his armor. All the while, his eyes lingered on the letter. The last one he'd received had brought excellent news, detailing how happy Leandra and Irina were since they'd moved to Hightown.

Carver washed his face and combed his wet hair with his fingers. He sighed and sat down. Irina's handwriting was always so neat, so unlike his. As he read, he remembered his mother teaching his little sister how to read and write, especially since he and Bethany spent so much time with their fath–

He frowned. Had he read that correctly? He looked at the date and read the letter again. He raised his eyebrows and passed his fingers through his hair one more time. He blinked. But how…?

Oh, he  _knew_ how. He still remembered Merrill's softness; her hands running over his body, the affection in her eyes… That last night, the one before everything had changed, he decided that she was the right woman for him. The memory of her fingers entwined with his, and her voice calling him  _'ma vhenan'_ … She had giggled when he'd asked her what it meant, and she'd promised she'd tell him when he returned.

But he'd never had the chance to do so. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye.

He found Stroud in the kitchen. The Orlesian warden liked to lend a hand to the cook whenever he was around, knowing the appetite of the others better than anybody else. "I need to talk to you," he urged the Senior Warden.

"What is it? Bad news?"

"No. I don't know? It's…" Carver hesitated. "It seems I have a child. A daughter."

Stroud handed the ladle to the cook and walked to Carver. "Congratulations!" He patted him on the shoulder and opened the door. "Everybody! Carver's got a daughter!"

The cheers of the others overwhelmed him. Suddenly Carver was surrounded by four men and two women who were pinching his cheeks, tousling his hair, and generally hugging the confused warden.

"Oh look at him," one of the women chuckled. "Speechless!"

"I just don't understand…" Carver murmured. "Why… What makes you glad about it?"

"Well, part of the side effects of joining the Wardens is having little to no chances to have offspring, you know?" Stroud explained. "So I guess it's a good thing you got to it before you went into the Deep Roads. Is the wife alright?"

"I… She's not my wife," he muttered. He felt everybody's eyes on him and blushed. "I mean, I wanted to marry her, but the expedition… And she's a Dalish…"

"Oh," Stroud said. He cleared his throat. "Well, I hope her clan will accept the child…"

"She's not going back to them. She's staying with my family. Her family, now." He looked at the letter in his hand. "I was wondering if–"

Stroud sighed. "I know you were," he said gently. "But we're leaving for Amaranthine soon."

"We don't need to go to Cumberland for transport. You know we could take a boat in Kirkwall," Carver suggested impatiently.

"We'll see," Stroud replied.

* * *

Merrill kissed her daughter's forehead as she breast-fed the child. Inan was the most beautiful baby they had ever seen, and Irina couldn't help but feel somewhat proud of her brother.

"No news?" Merrill asked.

Irina shook her head. "Not yet. But he  _had_  warned us that this could happen."

"I know," Merrill replied calmly as she stroked the girl's black hair. It was hard to see them apart. The elf was fiercely protective of her child, even though there was no immediate threat to her. Irina smiled and sat down next to her on the garden lawn. The days seemed longer now that the summer had fully set in. "Why aren't you spending time with Fenris?"

"He's busy," Irina replied. "Varric needs him to deal with the Qunari at the docks. It appears that his stay in Seheron was good for him. He understands the culture, and even though diplomacy is not his forte, it's more than Varric knows about it. So he spends a lot of time with him and Aveline."

"Not with Isabela, I trust?" Merrill asked casually. Irina squinted.

"You're not jealous of her, are you? After all, Carver chose you."

"It was a bit of a surprise to know that there had been something between them," the elf admitted. "Then again, maybe to me. I'm not very observant. Except when it comes to you and Fenris, but that's because I can feel the energy between you two… And Anders, but he's got a different kind of… And I'm rambling. What was I saying? Ah, Isabela. I should have known. She's got the most gorgeous legs. And her breasts…" She took the chance to change the child from one breast to the other. "The way she sways her hips…"

"Yes," Irina sighed. "I feel like a little girl next to her." She frowned and closed her eyes for a few seconds. "You can climb down that tree, Isabela!" she shouted.

The pirate slithered down and patted her clothes. "Took you too long to figure it out, dolly," she admonished her. "What if I'd been a thief?"

"But you  _are_  a thief," Merrill said.

"A  _bad_  thief," Isabela replied.

"You're also a bad thief," Merrill replied. "Didn't you lose that thing you'd stolen…?"

Isabela patted her on the head. "Let's not talk about that anymore, shall we, Kitten? And as for you," she said to Irina, "you'd be very pretty if you decided to show a bit more. You've got an elven physique. Slim, pale, airy. You'd make an excellent elf."

"Do you think that's why Fenris–?" Irina started asking, but Merrill interrupted her.

"Oh no no no! I think he'd like you no matter what you looked like. I just wish he'd  _show_  it, you know? I need to see some romance soon." She sounded sad.

"You and me both," Irina sighed.

"Oh, I can imagine the fire within him," Isabela purred. "I'd suggest you go for Anders instead, though. I bet he needs to unload some of that spirit energy… Oh, the sex with him would be amazing. The use of his powers on the body – ice, fire; sensual lightning running over your bare skin…"

"No mage uses their magic in bed," Merrill frowned. "Emotions run rampant, and it can be dangerous for both people."

" _Both?_  You only think of _two_  people?" Isabela joked.

"I don't see Anders that way," Irina said quickly, wishing to change the topic to one that made her less nervous. "He _is_  special to me. And I love him as a friend and mentor, but he's like an older brother."

"What about Sebastian?" Isabela said, sprawling on the lawn. "Mmm, those blue eyes… And that neatly combed hair, desperately asking for some fingertips running through it... That broad back, craving some fingernail action. Talk about forbidden acts… He'd be more sinful than blood magic. Speaking of which…" She turned and looked at Merrill. "I never asked. What the heck did you use blood magic for?"

The elf covered her breasts and rested her daughter against her shoulder, patting her on the back lightly. The child was almost asleep at that point. "There was something I wanted to fix," she said slowly. "Something that I wanted to bring back. And someone, perhaps." She told Isabela the story of the corrupted mirror and the ones lost to the clan. "I left them because I wanted to save them."

"But Flemeth told you that your clan would pay in blood if you did," Irina said softly. "We were still with your clan when that happened."

"Asha'bellanar made me fear what would happen, yes. But I still believed… There's someone in the alienage that could arrange the delivery of the remains of that mirror to my old hovel. I needed to come to Kirkwall. I wanted to give it a try. But then Carver dropped by, more and more often," she said gently, a smile forming on her lips. "Bringing little things, helping me repair holes in the roof, taking me along for some jobs when I asked him to… He cared for me and listened to me more than my clan had even done. And I don't know when it happened, but I fell in love with him." She chuckled. "I must have looked like a fool, babbling whenever he was near, saying the most inane things… Talking about cats for Anders and Qunari and butterflies… I just wanted to be with him, and the silences were sometimes too hard to bear." She cradled her daughter in her arms and gazed at her lovingly. "When I decided to give myself to him, I didn't really think that such a miracle would happen. She saved me. If I'd thought that he was lost forever, I might have gone along with my original plan. But I knew that something had changed within me. I just needed time to confirm it." She kissed her daughter's cheek; the baby was already completely asleep.

Isabela smiled. "You're a lucky woman, Kitten. Finding friends saved you in the end."

"And it might save you too, one day," Merrill said distractedly. She missed the look on the pirate's eyes, but if she'd seen it, she would have realized that her comment had touched Isabela more than she would ever admit.

* * *

Fenris clenched his fists as his eyes stared at a fixed point of the table, looking but not really seeing. "Are you sure it's  _her?"_  he muttered.

"Well, I don't know if it's the woman you're looking for," Anso replied. "But that's what Irwin and Talen said. They're the lyrium traders, you know. The fellows that talked to them said that their mistress only required a specific kind of lyrium – not refined, but–"

"The ore chunk," Fenris spat. "That means she will be using blood…" He saw Anso shudder. "Anything else?"

"There have been rumors of slavers, but Tethras must have told you."

"Yes. They were sighted at the Coast – northeast part. But they may have had trouble with some Qunari scouts. We found the bodies, but that's all we have."

"You could have caught up with them if you'd chased them when I first gave you the lead. Why did you wait so long?" Anso asked.

Fenris looked at his hand. "I made a promise."

"Paragon reborn! You've got a tender heart underneath those lyrium marks after all," Anso murmured, amused.

Fenris grunted. "For no one."

"Well, you must have promised that to  _someone_ … It's not the pirate –shame on you– and it's not the Dalish, so that leaves us with one other girl…" Anso teased him. He stopped, however, when he noticed the elf's scowl. He cleared his throat. "Anyway… Yes, they were asking after a fugitive slave. So that's where you come in."

"What's your best guess?" Fenris asked, looking at the map pinned to Anso's wall.

The dwarf pondered for a while and pointed to a place far from the coast and the city. "The Holding Caves. That place has got a reputation and…" His finger traced a route all the way up to Tevinter. "It's the only road that's still standing thanks to the Imperium."

"That's where I'll be going, then," Fenris muttered.

* * *

"You promised you'd take me with you," Irina told him. He was standing in front of the fire in her library, avoiding her look.

"It might be more dangerous than I can anticipate," he replied, wishing she'd stop asking him about it.

"Why? What is there?  _Who_  is there? It's not Danarius; that much I can gather. I know we can anticipate slavers, but they can rarely afford mages." She noticed him looking at her over his shoulder. "Isabela told me so, and Carver once said that even if the slavers had mages, it was only one. There are two of us – Anders and I can go with you; we can finish this now, Fenris." She stood next to him, her gray eyes searching for an answer in his face. "So… Who is it?"

Fenris let out a sigh. "It's not Danarius. It's his right hand, Hadriana. There isn't a woman that I hate more in this life. She's also a magister, and every bit as cruel as Danarius. She's also very powerful." He looked at Irina, who was listening to him attentively. "In Tevinter, the number of slaves assigned to a magister is used to show how much influence you have, but it also depends on the kind of slave they are given. Or the sort of slave they can get their hands on."

Irina noticed that his expression had hardened. The last thing she wanted to do was upset him. But the way he'd said that last phrase, together with how little affection he usually showed, led her to ask the inevitable question. "What kind of slave were you to her, Fenris?"

"Why are you asking?" His voice sounded oddly strained and low.

"You know why," she replied calmly, but her words were met by silence. She sighed and walked to the armchair. She was no fool. His silence actually spoke more than anything he could have said. "Whatever happened… Whatever you did, it wasn't your fault…"

"Of course it wasn't my fault!" Fenris barked. "Who do you think I am? Do you think I would have let her come near me if I'd been given the chance to say 'no'? You don't understand what it is, to be powerless…" He looked at his hands. "To know that you have all that strength within you, and if you use it, if you  _dare_  use it, you could lose your life…" He passed his fingers through his hair. "That  _bitch,"_  he spat, "used me in all the ways she could think of, but that wasn't enough. She pushed me to the limit; starving me for days, not letting me sleep…"

"Please stop," Irina asked.

"You wanted to know," he snarled as he grabbed her from the arm and dragged her away from the armchair. "This is how it feels to be controlled by blood magic. You're just a doll, a puppet for their entertainment. You don't own anything when you're a slave, but when you're a slave to a filthy mage, you don't even own your life or your body!" He let go of her and she fell to the floor, her face veiled by her loose hair. Her eyes looked up at him with sadness and he felt ashamed. "You are  _not_  coming with me, and that's final," he muttered, and he stormed out of the room.

* * *

Varric's eyes were set on the flames of the campfire, but Fenris could tell when he was being watched. The dwarf had remained suspiciously quiet since the beginning of their journey, and that night he went on with his odd behavior. Isabela was showing Fenris how to hide some cards up his sleeve when they noticed that Sebastian was observing something with interest.

"What is it, Choir Boy?" Varric called out, amused.

"Varric! Show some respect. The man's a prince," Isabela purred.

"So am I," Varric grinned. "A Merchant Prince."

"I only said I was a prince to help Irina out," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I'm as close to being the Prince of Starkhaven as Tethras is of being a Paragon of Virtue. Here they are now," he said, walking to meet the newcomers.

"Who's 'they'?" Fenris stood up and grabbed his sword.

"Relax, pretty elf," Isabela said, leaning on Varric's shoulder. "It's just friends."

Fenris frowned and walked to the edge of the campsite. He didn't need to see her to know that she was hiding beneath that cloak. Sebastian offered to carry her things for the rest of the way. Anders and Aveline followed them, and so did a shaggy hound.

"What is  _she_  doing here?" he asked Varric. He could barely contain his fury, and the dwarf picked that up quickly.

" _I_  asked them to come," he said dismissively. "I didn't think you'd mind that much."

"You didn't  _think–?_  You clearly didn't think!" Fenris strode towards the young mage. "Are you defying me? What nonsense is this? I think I was very clear when I said–"

"I didn't come _with_  you," she snapped.

"What?"

"You said  _'You are not coming with me',_ and I didn't. I came here with Anders, Aveline, and Hairbag, not with–"

"Ancestors!  _'Hairbag'?_  Who named the dog?" Varric groaned.

"Who do you think?" Aveline scoffed, pointing to Anders overtly.

"I'm not a dog person," the mage stated. "You knew that. And I appreciate the gesture, Varric, but I think he'll be better in the barracks than in Darktown."

"You need it, Anders. If there's one thing we learned in the past year is that things can get dangerous down there," Isabela said, calling the dog. The hound rolled on his back and offered his belly for her to scratch. "Good boy… Oh, you're definitely a male…"

"Oh yeees, he's  _obviously_  a guard dog," Anders said, rolling his eyes. "Have you had dinner already? We hunted a bunny rabbit and I was looking forward to–"

"Excuse me!" Fenris shouted. "Would you mind shutting up for a while?"

"Why? Do you want us to hear what you two have to say to each other?" Varric asked. "Heh, what do you know, fellows? Dinner and show."

"No! I…" Fenris grunted and took Irina by the arm, far away from the group. "You deliberately disobeyed me," he muttered, unable to contain his anger.

"I didn't know you were my master," she replied, touching a nerve.

"How can you say those things so freely?" he asked.

"I can say whatever I want to say, and so can you. You are _not_  a slave. That woman in the Holding Caves is  _not_  your master. You are a free man, you… You…" She poked him on the chest. "Ugh, you make me so angry! I'd kill you if I didn't–!"

"If you didn't what?" He'd already forgotten how vulnerable she looked in the moonlight; her pale skin glowing like a beacon that kept beckoning him, asking him to touch her, to feel her… "We've already talked about this," he sighed. "If something were to happen to you…"

" _Nothing_  will happen to me," she said. "And if it does, I know you'll be there to help me. I know you won't leave me."

"How can you trust me so much?" Fenris asked.

"You've never let me down," she answered. "Why wouldn't I?"

Isabela and Aveline were looking at them in the distance. "Feel like betting again, Manhands?" the pirate asked, crouching behind some bushes. "I think he'll do it this time, eh?"

"Do what?" Anders asked, crawling behind them.

"Kiss her," Sebastian grunted. "The ladies seem to have an obsession with the apparent romance between Milady Amell and the elf."

"Shame on you, girls. The Maker frowns upon your gossiping." Anders peered. "Hmm… He's glowing a bit. That means he's either angry or…"

"I'm thinking that wolf is hungry, if you know what I mean," Varric chuckled.

"Yeah, I got that. Which of you says he's going to kiss her?" Anders asked.

"That would be me," Isabela beamed.

"I think you're about to win a silver from our friend the Captain," he chuckled.

"They're watching us again, aren't they?" Irina asked Fenris, who didn't look up.

"When aren't they?" he muttered. "What do they want this time?"

"They're waiting to see if you'll kiss me," Irina replied calmly. "Isabela always bets you will, Aveline always thinks you won't."

"And what do  _you_  think?" Fenris asked, arching an eyebrow.

She considered her reply for a while. "I think you won't," she said gently. "And it's alright. I understand. Your mind is focused on other matters. I am a patient person, Fenris. What will a few more months do to me? Take all the time–"

"You're a patient  _woman,"_ he corrected her. She raised her eyes and saw his, looking at her almost kindly. She lowered her eyes and coughed nervously, making him smile a little. Oh, he was happy to see her after all. "What. Didn't you think I noticed that you're a woman? Just because I don't say anything…" Even in that pale light, he could see that she was blushing. "You don't think I'll kiss you. And you're right. I won't." He enjoyed the sight of her eyes looking up at him, sometimes with excitement, some other times with surprise. This time they looked a little disappointed. "Not unless you want me to."

"What are you saying?" she giggled nervously. There it was again, the heat that she felt every time he was near; that shivery sensation of something needed, something wanted.

"Command me to kiss you, and I shall," he murmured in her ear. "Mind you," he said roguishly, "I'll only do it if you're assertive enough."

Irina felt as if suddenly her body didn't belong to her anymore. She'd only kissed him once because she'd been waiting for him to take a step in her direction, but he'd never done it. She wanted him to kiss her because he wanted to do so, not because she asked for it.  _Don't do it,_ said a voice inside her head.  _Don't play the game. Leave him wanting, let him–_

"Kiss me, Fenris." Her voice was low and yet so clear.

"Your wish is my command," he muttered, and his mouth found hers. He'd planned to leave a gentle kiss on her lips, but the soft sigh that escaped her when they parted made him want more. He was about to kiss her again when he heard the cheering of Isabela and the groaning of Aveline behind the bushes. He cleared his throat and stepped back. "We should go back to the others," he said, as he offered her his hand.

* * *

"One…" Anders counted, keeping his eyes on the Horror that had started to materialize on the other end of the room. Varric and Sebastian had spread out and Isabela had been knocked out. Fenris had quickly dragged her to where Aveline was and then ran towards the mages, standing in front of them.

"Two…" Irina saw the profile of her mentor, almost fading in the light that was bursting from within. She looked ahead and there it was, an abomination similar to the one they'd found in Sundermount, chilling the air around them.

"Now!" Anders muttered a curse and trapped the creature's limbs with a hex. Varric shot a bursting bolt through its head, but it seemed to have no effect. Irina raised her hands and saw Fenris's energy glowing in resonance with hers. She closed her eyes.  _Math'ruy…_ She hadn't thought it would be so hard to concentrate with him there.  _Math'ruy…_ It was hard but not impossible, and she felt stronger and more powerful. _"Math'ruy'carh'har,"_ she murmured, trapping the demon in a spirit prison.

"Well done," Anders said, but it didn't sound like Anders. Irina looked at him. His glow had taken over him, and the way he was fighting now… It was as if there was no tomorrow for him. Irina closed her eyes, letting the word of power fill her mind.  _Math'ruy'carh'har, Math'ruy'carh'har, Math'ruy'carh'har._ She saw the prison become corporeal and she knew that she could let go. _"_ _T'alvhen'ote,"_ she muttered, her eyes focused on the creature, watching its legs turn into brittle bone.

Anders shouted something that she didn't understand, something that sounded arcane and ancient, but that it seemed to accelerate the effect of Irina's spell. Fenris looked at Aveline over his shoulder and when he saw her nod, he dashed forward and jumped, burying his sword deep in the core of the monster until it was no more.

"Anders!" Irina shouted, causing the mage to look back at her. There was a last flash of blue in his look before his amber eyes went back to normal. She maintained her gaze on him until he smiled the way he always did.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Same old me, I promise," he murmured. He knelt down beside Isabela and took a flask from his cinch. The pirate wrinkled her nose.

"That smells like shit, Anders," she complained as she sat up. "My head…" She touched the back of her head, which was covered in blood. "Oh, the fuckers ruined my bandana…"

"Don't worry, they already paid for it," Varric chuckled.

"Perhaps you should consider wearing a helmet next time," Aveline observed, laughing at the thought of the scantily-clad woman wearing a great helm.

"Are you doing fine?" Fenris asked Irina. She smiled and nodded. She was healing one of the legs of the dog, and Fenris noticed that she didn't need extra energy to do so. Somehow, that made him feel better. "We should get going, then. This is the last stretch."

"I think I should keep an eye on Isabela and the hound," Aveline told him. "We can wait for you at the entry arch and keep guard in case more mercenaries come, but I really don't think she should risk going in there with you."

"How touching… You're looking after me," Isabela teased.

"I wouldn't have to if you were more careful," the Captain barked. "Neither you nor the dog follow instructions. It's a miracle you're both still alive." The hound lowered his ears and whimpered.

"I know, my friend. The lady is scary. We'll do what she says this time, but only because I'm seeing two of you, and that's never a good sign." Having said that, she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach on the floor.

"I'd better stay with them," Varric said. "Sorry. I really can't leave them on their own."

"It's alright," Fenris said. "I was going to come alone, anyway. A four-person group is always better than one person on their own." Through the corner of the eye, he saw Irina smile at his words. That was all it took to make him fear again: if Hadriana discovered how much she meant to him, would she use that against him?

As they walked down the final section, Sebastian commented, "That is one interesting power you have there, Ser Warden."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Anders muttered, looking for hidden hexes along the way.

"Do you also have lyrium tattoos, like Fenris does? You know, the glow…" he explained, as the mage turned to him.

"Something like that, yes," Anders said curtly.

"But wouldn't that make you a Tranquil?" Sebastian insisted.

"It's not that," Irina interceded, fearing that Justice would come up any time soon. "It's something similar. It… augments his power the way Fenris's marks– Wait!" She grabbed Fenris by the arm and pulled him towards her.

"What is it?" he asked, feeling her body close to his. He saw her close her eyes and mutter something. "Can you see her?"

Trembling, she looked at him. "I can see them dying," she whispered.

"Everyone, get ready," Fenris commanded as he pressed forward, closely followed by Sebastian. Anders and Irina conjured some glyphs as they went, protecting the two men as they entered the final hall.

Only Fenris was ready for the scenario they found. A dozen elves carving their own skin with knives, and a single thread of blood that united them under the staff of a woman, who was now smiling at her expected guests.

"My sweet Fenris," Hadriana laughed. "I knew you'd come for me."

"What have you done?" he screamed. "Stop that now! You're killing them!"

"Surely you know you're worth much more than they are, my sweet. These are the last ones left," she said casually, "but even if they're worthless, every drop of their blood is precious if it means that I'll be able to take you with me."

"This woman has strayed far from the Light," Sebastian murmured. "For too long now. She smells like the Void itself."

"Indeed she does, Brother," Anders said. Irina looked at him. He was glowing again. She tried to keep to the shadows, but Hadriana spotted her.

"What do you have there, Fenris? Oh, look at her! Such a cute little mage… What is your name, darling?"

"Stay away from her!" Fenris snarled and dashed towards the magister, who raised her hand and muttered something in Tevene. The word, however, did not stop the elf, and she only saved her life by moving out of the way almost too late.

"What…?" she panted as she cast a protective shield. "It can't be… You removed it!" she shrieked. "How did you remove the  _umbra_?!"

"I just happened to find someone who needed it," Fenris smirked as he slunk towards Hadriana. He was enjoying the look of sheer terror in her face. The puppet strings had been cut. If she wanted to control the four of them, she'd have to resort to more blood magic.

And then it hit him. His dark energy, the  _umbra,_  had been transferred to Irina. When Hadriana had spoken the word of power…

He had to fight the urge to look back, to see if Irina had been dealt the blow meant for him. Part of him thought that if she'd been hurt, he would have heard something. A cry, a shout…

"Irina!" Anders's desperate voice, fleshing out the fear that he'd felt. He turned around and saw her falling on her knees, a thin thread of blood coming out of her mouth. But it was her eyes –confounded, in pain– that made his blood boil. Hadriana was laughing behind the protection of her magic and he turned to her, screaming with rage.

"Oh my sweetness! You've been a naughty boy, leaving your energy in that little girl… But you're mine, Fenris. Remember all the good times we spent together?" Hadriana's blue eyes stared into Fenris's. "All those things I let you do to me…"

"The things you  _made_  me do!" Fenris shouted. "You disgust me! Filthy blood mage!"

"That's enough, Fenris," Hadriana hissed, lowering her defences just enough to raise her hands to bid the forbidden arts. The slaves slashed their own throats in a frenzy of blood and madness and their bodies slumped to the floor, in front of the few slaves that were still caged.

Enveloped in a red cloud, Sebastian screamed. Fenris pushed him out of the way, feeling the tug of the summoning himself. Hadriana's laughter still rang in his ears, echoing the times that she'd forced herself upon him. But those times did not exist anymore. He was a slave no longer. Never again.

He felt the pain and the fire building up inside, spreading like a disease. The torment would always be there. It would always be a part of him. But he would master it. He saw the bodies of the dead, animated by the power of the blood, lunging themselves against his companions. Sebastian's arrows kept them at bay, and Anders…

Fenris felt a familiar glow shining behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw her, alive and moving, channelling the spirit energy that she'd absorbed from him.

And fading away.

Fenris frowned. That wasn't supposed to happen. And yet, it had.

She'd turned into a lyrium ghost.

He'd wanted to warn Anders, but a look at the mage told him that Anders was gone. There was only Justice there, burning like a sun. Fenris turned to Hadriana, whose eyes darted from one companion to the other until they landed on the spirit of the Fade.

"I will send you back to the abyss where you belong, demon!" Anders boomed, raising his staff and purging the blood from the hall. Hadriana retreated until her back hit the wall behind her and Fenris charged against her.

"Wait! Spare me!" she begged. "I have information–!" A silvery spiral slithered around her neck, choking her.

"Fenris!" Irina screamed behind him. "I cannot hold her much longer! Do it now!"

"I can't see you! You've faded away!" he cried.

"You're the one who's fading away, Fenris!" Sebastian shouted.

Fenris looked at him hands. Ghostly versions of his limbs seemed to have replaced the flesh ones, not just the hand, and he remembered… The only way to avoid blood magic was to leave the body behind. And there it was, standing on its own, immobile. The broken puppet.

He looked at Hadriana in the eye. How many nights had she tortured him? How long had he waited for his revenge? And how many slaves had died that day? Fenris glanced at the ones that had survived, their faces hidden in horror. He reached out and in a swift movement, he thrust his fist into her chest, holding her heart in his hand as if it was a piece of fruit.

One that he crushed until it was no more.

"Come back to me," he heard Irina say as she wrapped her arms around his body. As he bolted towards it, he saw Anders hit his staff on the floor. Warm and tender, her arms were still around him. He felt his chest to see if it was the real thing, and was pleasantly surprised to discover it was. He turned around and saw Irina gazing at him, a smile on her now blood-red lips.

He sought out her lips with an urgency that surprised both of them; blood mingled with desire, and his kisses became more intense, as if each of them would claim her. She was his. She would always be.

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured. "That you'd somehow disappeared and that I'd never be able to tell you what I feel for you…"

A creaking sound behind them brought him back to reality. He turned around to see Sebastian opening the door of the cage where five elves were crouching in fear. "Oh, I didn't realize I was interrupting you," he said bitterly. "I will not harm you," he spoke to the elves. "Come out. The danger has passed, I promise."

* * *

"I think it's the first time I've seen you smile this long," Varric commented as they entered the city.

"I'm relieved," Fenris replied. "I know that killing that bitch was a blow to Danarius, and I'm one step closer to bringing him down."

"And here I was, thinking that it was our little Irina that made you feel that way," Varric shook his head sadly.

"She certainly helped," Fenris murmured, his eyes fixed on the back of the mage walking ahead of him. He seemed to remember something. "You've done a good job with her, Anders."

"Why, thank you," the mage replied behind him. "I would have never expected to hear that from you."

"Perhaps now you can stop training her and focus on learning how not to lose control?" the elf said sarcastically.

"Perhaps I will, and next time you won't live to tell the tale," Anders quipped.

"Sometimes I think they enjoy it," Sebastian murmured dismayed, making Varric laugh.

* * *

Irina was the first one to enter the mansion. Fenris was carrying Isabela, who was still not doing well, and Anders had insisted on treating her as soon as possible. Since the clinic was connected to the Amell Estate, they decided that it would be best if she stayed there for a few days.

"Bodahn?" she called out. The main hall was deserted. "Sandal?" Perhaps they were in the library. "Bodahn, we need a little–" She stopped, her hand on the door handle.

"Hello, Sister," Carver smiled, holding the baby in his arms.

...


	10. You

"How long will you be here?" Irina said, sitting on the arm of Carver's chair. He was holding Inan in his arms and Merrill was watching them, enthralled by the sight of the two people she loved the most finally together.

"Two more days. Stroud was exceedingly kind by letting me stay this long. A three-day stop is not really significant to our mission, but it might mean changes in the tide," Carver explained. "I hope it won't be as rough as it was when we got here."

"How do you like the place? It took us some time to fix it."

"It's grand!" Carver smiled. "Gamlen told me about it yesterday. I'm glad to see he's being decent for a change."

"Oh, he is," Merrill said excitedly. "He loves Inan. Well, as much as he can love children and pets. Hairbag can't stay here; the poor dog has learned that the door to the kitchen is as far as he can get. I think he's happy to have company."

"The dog?" Carver asked, confused.

"Oh, no! Gamlen! Your mother says that he must have had a hard life in that old hovel of his. I wish he had some family of his own, you know?" She stood up and took the baby from Carver's arms. "It's time for me to feed her,  _ma vhenan_. You can have her again after she's eaten and slept for a while."

"So strict," he pouted, but he smiled when Merrill leaned and kissed him. His eyes followed her until she'd left the room, and then he turned to his sister. "We're getting married in two days, right before I leave."

"Maker! Tell me that's no joke," Irina beamed as she threw her arms around her brother. "Congratulations! How did you persuade her?"

"I didn't have to," Carver said. "I just told her,  _'Merrill, I want us to be married before I leave; Inan will be inscribed in the books as a Hawke, and so will you'_  and she said,  _'Fine, but I need to get new shoes'_. Since there was little time for her to get some, and she kept insisting on wearing them because of those chantry rules, we'll be married here, in the garden. Sebastian will do it."

"But…" Irina blinked. "You have to let him know. We've just returned from the Caves, and I think he'll be exhausted."

"Then I'll be on my way out. What were you doing in the caves?" Carver frowned. "I'm not sure I like this new adventurous side of yours…"

"It was a situation that Fenris–" Irina stopped suddenly.  _Fenris._  She ran out of the room and bumped into Bodahn, who was instructing some men in the right way to decorate the garden. "Bodahn, where's Fenris?"

"Master Fenris left a short time ago, Mistress. He asked me to tell you that he will be at his place. Master Anders is upstairs, taking care of Mistress Isabela. My boy is helping him. Mistress Amell has asked me to let you know that she left a new dress in your chambers." He looked at the men apprehensively and whispered, "I'm not sure these people will know exactly what to do. Would you mind giving us a hand with that? When you have time, of course."

So Fenris had left. Irina felt again that they needed to talk, and every time that they were about to have some time on their own, someone came or something happened, and the talk was postponed once more. She sighed. "Of course I'll help you. Let me wash myself first."

"Oh, that! I was forgetting that," Bodahn chuckled. "I've already drawn a bath for you. I thought you might need it, after such a long trip."

"What would we do without you, dear Bodahn?" Irina smiled and kissed the dwarf on the forehead. She had come to truly appreciate his presence in the house.

She excused herself with Carver and climbed the steps to her bedroom. As she walked up the stairs, she looked around, feeling grateful for the blessings that they had received, and said a silent prayer.

* * *

Fenris sank into his favorite chair and rested his feet on the table in front of him. He finished the bottle of wine that he'd been saving for that occasion and, for the first time in years, he allowed himself to loosen up. He knew that the battle won in the previous days was only that, a battle. The war would still continue, and he just had to make sure that he'd live to fight Danarius when the man decided to come for him.

Because now, more than ever, he would come for him.

He looked at his sword, still waiting to be polished. There was a certain pleasure in knowing that so many had died by it, and that the loss of their lives had not been in vain. They had given him confidence. They had given him strength. Like steps to a ladder, bringing him closer to his objective. And once Danarius was brought down…

What then? Did he have the courage to wage a war against the slavers? Against the Magisters? He looked into the fire. What then?

Settling down was something that he didn't know. Then again, he'd been living in Kirkwall for two years. Still squatting in that house, which seemed to become gloomier and gloomier with every passing day. Still drinking that wine, which tasted more and more bitter. And yet, there was some sweetness to it. The aftertaste had changed. It wasn't light or airy any longer, but every sip he took left an unexpected softness in his mouth.

The memory of her kisses came back to him. She was bolder than he had thought, first touching his lips without expecting a kiss in return, and then commanding him to do so. Part of him relished the thought of seeing her so assertive, but the other part, the part that he was trying to ignore, wanted her the most when she was soft and kind. The warmth of her body, the smoothness of her skin… He could feel the desire building up in him. He'd never liked the idea of naked bodies together, but he realized that it was because he'd never had a good experience with that. Everything had been forcefully taken from him. He'd never had the chance to say 'I want this'.

"I want you," he said out loud, his eyes set on the fire, but his mind set on her.

The knock on the door surprised him. Bodahn must have told her. He passed his fingers through his hair and dashed downstairs.

"Hello, Fenris," Sebastian greeted him with a polite smile.

He tried to hide his disappointment. "What are you doing here?"

"May I come in?" the Chantry Brother asked. Fenris moved aside and the other man walked into the house, looking around discreetly. Fenris didn't usually mind him, but this time he hated him. After having been away for days, Sebastian didn't look exhausted in the least. He was wearing his dashing Andraste armor once more, and his hair was neatly combed. Never had Fenris felt more self-conscious.

"What brings you here?" the elf asked.

"I have just been informed that I'm to officiate the wedding between Carver and Merrill. Milady Amell will surely be overjoyed."

"You mean Irina?"

"Yes. Who else?"

"You've called her Irina once when we were camping. I caught that. Why's she 'Milady Amell' now?"

Sebastian smiled. "Because sometimes it is nice to remember who she is and where she comes from. That was the purpose of Carver's sacrifice, wasn't it? He went into that expedition hoping to restore his family's good name."

Fenris licked his lips. He was starting to see where the conversation was going. "Why don't you call him 'Milord Amell' then?"

"Because as a Grey Warden, he has no claim to titles. Very much like those of us who join the Chantry. That is, unless we recover them."

"And that is what you intend to do, I take it?"

Sebastian nodded as he looked around. "One day. If your latest experience has taught me anything, Fenris, is that if you find yourself the right allies, you can go far. Retaking Starkhaven is a long-term goal for me." He looked at the elf amicably. "For the moment, I shall remain in Kirkwall."

Fenris smirked. "Is that why you need a Lady Amell, then?"

The Brother smiled. "Perhaps. It is no secret that Irina seems to enjoy your company. But she's also the kind of person who's willing to do her duty, even if it means making sacrifices. I truly believe that if Merrill hadn't been with child, she would have joined the Circle. In fact, there was this time in which I was fortunate enough to persuade her otherwise. I guess I'm lucky that she listens to me, Maker bless her soul." He looked at Fenris almost apologetically. "Oh, but that's not what I'm here for. You're invited to the wedding, of course. I'm sure Milady Amell would have wanted to come and tell you herself, but Bodahn said there were more pressing matters."

"Anything else?" Fenris muttered.

"No, that will be all." Sebastian opened the door and looked at the elf over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, my friend."

* * *

"How is she doing?" Carver asked Irina as she came out of the guest room.

"Anders has just finished healing her properly. The injury was severe and he had to relieve some of the pressure… She's fine," his sister smiled and pressed his arm sympathetically. "Don't worry. As soon as he comes out, you can see her."

"Is she awake?" Carver peered inside the room through the door left ajar.

"She is now. She might be a little… gone." Irina walked down the stairs.

Carver leaned against the wall and waited outside the room. The house was silent now. He looked around one more time. He still couldn't believe that the family estate was so grand. Not even in his wildest dreams had he dreamed of living in such a place. He still had to remind himself that it would never be him who lived in that house. He gazed at Merrill's door, hoping that his soon-to-be bride would come out, but the baby had had trouble sleeping, and Merrill was busy with the child. He felt movement in the room and stood straight.

"Were you waiting for me?" Anders teased. "You shouldn't have."

"Your dog's been waiting for you," Carver told him. "Gamlen's complained about some scratching in the larder only three times."

"Oh, that's nothing," Anders shrugged. "If you want to ask her what's that thing she's looking for, now's the time. She's a little dizzy."

"Still haven't figured that out?" Carver said, resting his hand on the doorknob.

"You know what she's like. She shows too much of the outside, but the inside's a mystery. See you tomorrow for the big event!" Anders fished in his pocket for the key that Irina had given him and left.

Carver closed the door behind him. Isabela's head was framed by bandages. Without the jewellery, without the smile she always seemed to have on her lips, she looked young and fragile, and somehow not like Isabela at all. She opened her eyes and saw him standing in front of her.

"Your hair's longer," she murmured and closed her eyes again.

"It is, yes." He was about to move a chair closer to the bed but she patted a spot next to her. "I stopped caring about my looks for a while. Merrill wants me to comb it for tomorrow."

"What's special about tomorrow?"

"Our wedding day. She and I are getting married."

Isabela opened her eyes. "Oh," she said. 'She and I' he'd said. Not 'We'. He was sending a clear message. She watched the young man until he blushed, and she smiled weakly. "A dashing prince."

"Pardon?"

"That's what you look like. Nobility. There's always been a noble air about you. Just like that tease, Sebastian. It must be the blue eyes." She sighed.

"How did you let them get to you?" Carver teased, trying to change the topic of the conversation to one that would be safer. "You've always been a bit careless, but this is too much. Knocked out cold, they tell me. Tsk tsk tsk. Shame on you. Irina says that Aveline will bring you a great helm from the armory of the barracks…"

Isabela smiled. "The Captain's a good fighter, but I missed my warrior," she murmured. "All those back-to-back battles, Carver… And all that front-to-front action we'd have afterwards…"

"Isabela…" Carver shook his head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have… It would have been stupid, Carver. I could never be what you wanted. This is you, love. The man who wants the wife and the child; the heart that does its duty. And I'm just a lowlife thief, a failed pirate…"

"Don't say that. This is unlike you, Isabela." Carver held her hands in his and she looked away.

"I was married once, you know? A horrible man. He got what he deserved in the end." Her fingers wrapped around his. "I'm sorry. I was just afraid of getting close to anyone. I don't trust people easily. That's not me." She groaned.

"Are you in pain? Should I…?" Carver leaned forward to adjust the pillows, and Isabela pressed her lips against his; forcefully at first, but soon her kiss turned into something tender, longing and bittersweet. It was a farewell kiss, Carver knew it. He kissed her forehead and her hands.

"Isabela… My friend…" he whispered.

"Go. Leave me alone," she murmured, looking away. Carver knew when something was over, and he walked out of the room.

* * *

"I'm just so glad that your mother gave me this dress for Satinalia!" Merrill exclaimed as Irina helped her with the flowing sleeves. "It's as if she knew that I was going to need it!" She gasped. "Do you think she knew?"

"Nobody knew!" Irina grinned. "That makes it so much better! You're lucky that my brother's the kind of man who's happy to be head of a fam–" She was interrupted by the elf's sudden embrace. "What's wrong?"

"I wish Fenris made up his mind," Merrill frowned. "I know he feels something strong for you. I've seen him. Even _I_  can tell! That means everyone can see." She gasped again. "Do you think he's embarrassed? I'll tell the others not to look at you two when you're together - do you think that will help?"

"Are you two ready?" Leandra said as she came into Merrill's chamber, holding her granddaughter in her arms. Inan was cooing softly, and her green eyes looked around the room. Merrill said something to the baby that Irina didn't understand. She smiled and looked at herself in the mirror. Her mother had chosen a light-blue dress with a silvery pattern, and she'd given her an antique necklace – the only thing that Gamlen had kept from their mother. She pinched her cheeks and hoped… Was it silly, to hope that he'd look at her? To wish she heard him say she was pretty? She wasn't vain, but she'd seen the way Carver and Merrill looked at each other, and she had come to want that so badly…

Aveline peered into the room. Her head was a red-haired mane and it made her look so different that they had trouble recognizing her. "Oh, fantastic. I dress in green because I trust the bride will wear red and she's dressed in green!" she protested. She became aware of the women staring at her. "What? It's the hair, isn't it?" she said, covering her hair self-consciously. "I knew it wouldn't look good."

"Are you joking?" Isabela said behind her. "You look amazing. Who knew you had such a wild beast inside?" Irina had washed the Rivaini's hair that morning and she'd managed to conceal the wound by tying her hair up in a loose bun. "You look beautiful, Kitten. Carver is one lucky man."

Merrill stared at her. A sudden chill ran along Isabela's spine. "Would you leave us alone?" Merrill asked the other women, who sensed a storm coming. As soon as the door had closed, the elf said, "Carver told me about last night."

"What happened last night?" Isabela asked.

"You know what happened," Merrill murmured. Her bright green eyes seemed darker somehow.

Isabela knew that playing dumb would lead her nowhere. "Yes, I did it. I kissed him. But it didn't mean anything, to either of us. It wasn't going to lead anywhere. Here, let me show you." The pirate planted a friendly kiss on Merrill's lips.

Merrill blinked. "Well, I was talking about your husband. You told him you were married once. How could you not tell us? I thought we were friends!"

Isabela arched an eyebrow. "Oh! Then, the kiss…?"

Merrill held one of her friend's hands and patted it. "Yes, he told me about that as well. He's honest. I like that about him. If he doesn't like you, he'll tell you so. And if he does, he'll say it. You're important to him." She hugged the Rivaini. "So you're important to  _us._  But you knew that already. I just wish you'd told us…"

Isabela stroked the elf's face gently. "I can see why he chose you," she murmured.

" _He_  chose  _me?_  I thought _I'd_  chosen him! Oh, I never know about these things. And Irina's gone now. Can you help me with the wreath?"

Isabela smiled. "Of course, Kitten."

* * *

As Irina walked down the stairs, she heard someone whistling.

"Well, look at you! You clean up nicely!" Varric exclaimed, holding her by the hands and kissing her cheeks. "Hoping to break some elven hearts today?"

"You're silly," she giggled. "New boots?"

"The ceremonial ones. They make me a little taller. It never hurts to look good, right?"

"I guess it doesn't," Irina smiled. "Have you seen Anders?"

"Blondie's in the study room, with your brother and Sebastian. Is Isabela upstairs?"

"She is, with Merrill."

"Ooh… How's that going? Will I run into a cat fight if I go to check on her?"

"No, I think they'll be fine." Irina kissed the dwarf on the cheek and headed for the study room. As soon as she opened the door, she saw Anders browsing through some books, and Carver and Sebastian deep in conversation.

"Ah, here she is," her brother said.

"Well, well, well – look at you," Anders smiled. "New dress. Your mother has impeccable timing for buying you clothes," he said as he left two books on a low table. "You look beautiful, dear."

"Do you really think so?" Irina asked with a smile.

"The colour suits you," Sebastian said. "It matches your eyes, giving them a certain light that shows purity. Milady." he held her hand and brushed her fingers with his lips.

Irina blushed and looked at her brother, who seemed to be amused. "I… I was wondering if you were ready. Mother wants to know…"

"We are, yes. We can continue discussing that another day, Sebastian," Carver said.

"There is no hurry," the Brother smiled.

Irina couldn't put her finger on it, but she felt that there was something odd there. Her eyes found Anders's, who seemed to desperately want to tell her something, but Carver locked his arm with hers and led her out of the room. Irina was staring back at Anders when she heard her brother greeting Fenris. And yes, there he was, dressed in black as usual, but his clothes were different this time. It felt as if he'd actually made the effort to look good.

"It's good to have you here," Carver said, patting him on the arm.

"Congratulations," Fenris said, visibly uncomfortable. He looked at Irina and nodded. "I'll see you all in the garden, I suppose," he murmured before walking away.

* * *

" _'I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond,"_ Sebastian chanted. _"For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.'_  From this moment on, you are man and wife."

Amidst the cheering and clapping of their friends, Carver kissed Merrill who, immediately after her husband untied the red scarf that had been used to bind them together, reached out for her daughter. Leandra was trying to hold back the tears as Gamlen patted her hand. Irina was beaming, and when she turned around, he saw Fenris watching her, a curious expression on his face. She crossed her eyes. He raised an eyebrow, but she could swear that the corners of his lips had moved upwards.

After the feast, the musicians started playing, and most of the guests danced along. Irina remained seated, clapping and watching everything, casting occasional glances towards Fenris's seat, but the elf seemed more interested in talking to Varric and Isabela.

"May I?" a voice said behind her. Anders was offering his hand and Irina took it quickly. "I haven't danced in a while, so you'll have to forgive me if I accidentally maim you."

"We can join forces and heal my poor toes, don't worry," she replied. It only took Anders a short while to remember the basics of dancing, and soon after they were twirling around.

"Sebastian was talking to Carver about marrying you," he whispered when they came close. He saw the shock in her eyes as they parted and switched partners.

Three, two, one; they came together again. "Is that a joke?" she whispered. "Why would he want to do that?"

"He plans to retake Starkhaven, and his claim would look better if he had a wife," Anders murmured as stood behind her and held her by the waist.

"Even if that wife was a mage?" Irina said. Anders shushed her. "How would that look? Imagine if they knew the… Princess-Consort of Starkhaven, or whatever his wife would be, is a mage."

"Well, you'd have influence. You could be a powerful voice in support of the mages." Anders turned and faced her. "Now that's a good idea. Maybe I'll give you away to Sebastian if Carver doesn't do it…"

"You wouldn't dare," Irina murmured, amused.

"I suppose not. Fenris would rip my heart off my chest for sure," Anders replied, causing her to blush. "The Princess-Consort of Starkhaven: a mage and an elven lover. You'd be popular," he chuckled.

 _Don't even mention it,_  Irina was about to say, when she realized that Anders had stopped dancing. Sebastian was standing nearby and signaled them. "May I dance with Milady Amell?" he asked politely.

"By all means," Anders said, amused of Irina's ill-disguised look of panic. "I'll talk to you later, sweetheart."

"Do you know this tune?" Sebastian asked. "It's a Fereldan one."

Irina nodded and smiled nervously. "I can't imagine you dancing to this tune, Brother."

"Well, lucky for you, you won't have to imagine it," he smiled, as he took her by the hand and joined the other couples.

Fenris looked away. Some things he just didn't need to see. He finished his drink and was going to pour himself some more wine when Anders took the goblet away from him and slapped him on the back of his head.

"Do you have a death wish?" Fenris grunted, rubbing the sore spot.

"So  _this_  is your idea of wooing a woman? Sitting here and drinking till you go blind?"

"Why do you care?" the elf muttered.

"Because I don't want her to be sent away to Starkhaven!" Anders hissed. "She's my friend, and I want her around."

"Why would she go to Starkhaven?" Isabela asked.

"Nooo! Don't tell me!" Varric gasped. "Get out of here! Are you serious, Blondie? The Princess, with Choir Boy?"

"You're calling her 'Princess' now?" Anders asked, dismayed.

"I always have! I must be a bit of a prophet!" Varric exclaimed, amused.

"Yes, sure, you're Andraste reincarnated," Isabela said before she turned to Anders. "How do you know all this? Did Irina tell you?"

"Sebastian did, of course. The idea certainly appeals to him," Fenris murmured. The others looked at him and huddled together to listen to what he surely had to say. "He came over to the mansion yesterday, to say that."

"Such a sneaky thing," Isabela muttered.

"Well, he said he'd come to let me know about the wedding. But he sure made a point of expressing his intentions."

"I'm surprised to see his face is still intact," Anders quipped. "You're always threatening people but you didn't think of giving him a good punch?"

Fenris shrugged. "He is somewhat right."

"WHAT?" The three of them had been noisier than they'd expected, and everyone turned to look at them. Disoriented, the only thing they managed to do was possibly the worst thing that they could have done: their eyes went from Fenris to Irina, who was now blushing intensely.

"Excuse me," she muttered as she left Sebastian standing alone and ran to the house. Fenris watched her go by and when he turned to his companions, they had an incredulous look in their faces.

"What are you waiting for, ass?" Isabela hit him on the arm. "Go after her!"

Hesitant but willing to walk away from the looks, Fenris stood up and went into the house. Behind him, Varric was waving his arms, saying, "Nothing to see here! Just an argument between lovers!"

 _Varric, you idiot,_  he thought as he looked around the house. He knocked on the bedroom door, but there was no reply. Perhaps the study room… He went down and opened the door slowly. "Irina?" he called out. The soft rustle of her dress told him that she was on the mezzanine.

"What do you want?" she said tiredly.

When he found her, she had taken off her shoes and was curled up in the biggest armchair there, holding a diary in her hands.

"Is everything alright? Did something happen with Sebastian?"

She closed the silk-bound book –a present given to her by him during the last Satinalia– and stared at him. "It's your fault. All of you, being loud and indiscreet! What were you even saying? No, don't tell me what you were talking about." She stood up and took the shoes in her hand. "It's better if I don't know. To answer your question: no,  _many_  things are not alright, and no,  _nothing_ happened with Sebastian." She walked past him and down the steps to the ground floor, seething – why did she feel so angry? Normally she would have appreciated some time alone with Fenris, but now…

He leaned against the door and crossed his arms. She raised her eyebrows. He locked the door and stood there, blocking the only way out. "We were talking about you and Sebastian, and how enthusiastic he seemed about marrying you. And I was telling them that he came to the mansion yesterday to tell me that."

Irina took a step back. "He actually told you that?" she murmured with a certain softness that didn't escape Fenris.

"He did. I suppose you like it, then?" he muttered. "I should have known…"

He had missed the point. To her, Sebastian saying that to Fenris only meant that he considered him a rival. But of course, Fenris had decided to take her hopes, crush them, and interpret them as a different wish. She raised her chin. "I may like it, yes," she said angrily. "What is it to you?"

"I thought we had something," he grunted.

"Something! After all this time, I don't know if there's something between us. You're nice to me one day and the next, you simply ignore me. You help me and get close to me and then you go and hide in that house for weeks!" She clenched her fists. "You kissed me and then you didn't even say goodbye! If that's the kind of future I can have with you, then I'm not sure I want it. And today…! At least Sebastian paid me a compliment! Now let me out!" she shouted, as her hand reached for the doorknob.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him, capturing her lips with his in a firm kiss. She pushed him away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Their eyes locked together for a brief spell, long enough for her to drop her shoes and throw her arms around him, kissing him unrestrainedly. His hands circled her waist and crawled up her back possessively. "You're mine," he whispered between kisses. His mouth found her neck –smooth, unspoilt– and nibbled on it teasingly.

It wasn't her hands, which now were clinging to his clothes, but her warm breath on his skin and her soft sighs in his ear that drove him to hold her and pin her against the wall, pressing his body against hers. Her mouth looked for his once more, running her fingers through his hair. He licked her lips tentatively and was more than happy to see that she parted them eagerly. Their tongues met slowly, melting together in a kiss that made her burn. His hands were running over her, setting her on fire…

There was a knock on the door. "Irina, darling?" Leandra. "Is everything alright?"

Fenris let go of her and straightened his clothes. She fixed her hair and opened the door. "Mother?" she said, hoping that Leandra wouldn't notice the blush that was surely covering her cheeks.

"Carver wants to dance with you," Leandra said, catching a glimpse of Fenris behind her daughter. "And you know he's leaving tomorrow… Since we don't know when he's coming back…"

"Oh, sure! Yes, of course!" She walked out of the room and once she'd taken a few steps, she turned around. Fenris was holding the shoes. Leandra took them from him and gave him an odd look.

"I should go," Fenris said, clearing his throat. "I will talk to you later."

"When?" she asked demurely as she finished fixing her dress under the shocked look of her mother.

"Another day. You promised you'd teach me to read, remember?" His green eyes stared into her grey ones.

"Right. Yes. Well… Let me know when you want me to teach you, will you?" She put on her shoes and walked away, escorted by her mother.

* * *

Carver left at dawn. Leandra, Gamlen, Merrill, and Irina accompanied the Wardens to the docks. Irina saw her brother wearing the armor of the Order and in spite of what it meant –being separated from the rest of the world, facing dangers that only they could face– she felt at peace. Her brother had found his place in the world. He'd always been a warrior, and now he had the chance to be so openly and for a good cause.

However, when he said goodbye to Merrill, she couldn't help but feel anguished. The elf cried, and Carver's embrace was not tight enough to reassure her. He showered her and Inan with kisses, until Gamlen took them away. He hugged his mother and she let go of him almost too quickly, as if she couldn't bear to part with him again.

"Sister," he said to Irina. "There's not much time. I've been so happy with everything. I couldn't ask for a better family."

"I wish… Well, you know what I wish," Irina smiled sadly.

Carver nodded. "I miss them too. But our time has come, you know? We've got to walk our own path, raise our own families… And that's something I wanted to discuss with you."

"I know what you're going to say, and I don't think I could go through with it. I don't love him, Carver."

The Warden stared into his sister's eyes. "If he took hold of Starkhaven, you'd be untouchable. You'd be free."

"Would I? Really?" she wondered out loud.

"Just think about it. I know that you feel something for Fenris, and that he also feels something for you. But he's a fugitive slave, and Danarius is his life goal, not you." He looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, but that's the truth, and you know it. What happened to you in the caves… Can you imagine what Danarius will do if he can use you against him?" He held her by the shoulders. "I don't want you to be a casualty. We survive, at all costs. Look at me. Do you honestly think this is what I wanted? The Royal Army was one thing, but this…" He sighed. "Just… don't dismiss it so easily, will you?"

Irina hugged him silently. Soon after, the tide carried them away, and she stayed at the docks, thinking.

* * *

"You know I could heal you faster than chicken soup can," Anders reminded her as he watched her feed slowly. She'd caught a bad cold the day that Carver had left, and after a month, it had only got worse. "The only reason why I haven't moved a finger is because I'm interested in hearing why you've decided that it's better to stay in this room than venture outside." He sat on the bed and stared.

She coughed. "I don't want to rely on magic more than I should," she replied.

"Fair enough. Now, I assume this doesn't have to do with not wanting to see Fenris, right?"

"Of course not," she said weakly.

"Of course not," he repeated. "And I'm glad to hear that, because I told him to drop by today."

"You did what?" she said, alarmed.

"He's coming here. To see you. Just a friendly visit. Doctor's orders."

"Anders…" Irina protested, but the mage shushed her.

"Life's too short to waste it, sweetheart." He smiled, and Irina thought she could feel the nostalgia pouring out of him. Whatever he'd once been, he could never be again. He heard a knock on the door, and Sandal poked his head in.

"He's here!" he announced to Anders.

"Thank you, boy. And now, milady, I must leave you." Anders bowed and left the room.

Irina shuddered. She was running a temperature, she could feel it. She left the bowl of soup on the bedside table and covered herself. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him enter the room and close the door behind him.

"Don't come near," she warned him. His steps were slow but they nevertheless marched forward, towards her. "You don't want to catch whatever this is."

"Anders says it's not contagious," he said kindly. "But if you don't want me near, I understand." He stood near the fire, his green eyes on her thin face. How small she appeared to be now that she was lying in that bed. Pale and fragile, delicate and– "Beautiful."

"I'm sorry?" Irina asked.

Fenris sighed. "You are a beautiful woman, Irina Hawke. It took me a month to come up with that. Don't ask for more."

Irina smiled. After a while, she said, "Next week?"

"Pardon?"

"Your tutoring. Reading and writing. Shall we start next week?"

"Do you think you'll be fine by then?" Fenris asked, sounding almost concerned.

"Oh, I know I will," she replied.

* * *

She remembered the lessons with her mother. Teaching him how to use a quill properly wasn't hard, and it took him some time to get accustomed to his handwriting, but he was eager to learn. He was tireless, and after a few months, he could read almost as well as anybody else. Irina had to remind herself that the Imperial language was different from theirs, and it amazed her to see how well he could make connections between both languages.

The elves that they had rescued from Hadriana's den were living in the house now. Fenris had told them what to expect from their new lives as free people, and it had taken some time, but they had managed to find some jobs around the city. Still, as soon as they finished their tasks, they'd return to the house and keep to themselves, something that both Fenris and Irina wished they wouldn't do.

Sometimes, she would accompany him when he was out on a job. He'd taken to working with Isabela, and together with Varric, they made a habit of roaming the streets at night and doing away with the criminals that Aveline couldn't be bothered with. She was busy working with the Viscount on the Qunari question, and she'd welcome the help that her former companions could offer.

* * *

"What are you reading?" she asked one afternoon. He quickly closed the book that he'd been holding and hid it between others. "Oh! What was that?"

"Nothing you need to read," he said dismissively.

"But I'm curious. Why can't I see it?" Her eyes looked at the shelf, trying to remember what book it had been. He stood between her and the shelves.

"There's nothing to see here, and curiosity can be dangerous."

"So can be the streets of Hightown, but you're still willing to send me home alone today."

"Who said that? I thought you'd be going home with Orana."

"She's already there, remember? I guess you'll have to walk me home," Irina smiled. "Don't be lazy. Put on some boots and come with me."

"You can always stay," he murmured.

Irina swallowed hard. "Stay? Here? With you? Alone? I don't think so," she shook her head.

"Who said anything about 'alone'? The others-"

"There's a celebration in the Alienage, Fenris. It's their first  _Vir'elvhen._ Merrill's there."

"You mean we're alone?" he asked in a low voice, holding her by the chin.

"You still have to behave," she murmured as she moved her face closer to his. "I've got a reputation to protect…"

He kissed her neck slowly, feeling her going soft in his arms. Her gorgeous neck was exposed; he'd wanted to nibble and bite it for such a long time that he could barely believe he was finally doing it. He felt her fingernails digging into his back and a gasp of surprise escaped her lips. He covered her mouth with his, kissing her slowly, and ran his hands up her sides.

She pressed her body against his. She could feel the need building up within her, but she was not sure about going through with it. As she kissed him, she wondered if she could ever have a normal family of her own. Marry first, children later. That was what she wanted. Not what her mother or Carver had had, but what Bethany had worked for. "Fenris…" she murmured between kisses.

He gazed into her eyes as he cupped her face with his hands. "Say it again."

"Fenris..." she repeated.

"Irina… I want you…" he growled softly in her ear before taking the earlobe between his teeth and teasing it with his tongue.

She moaned softly and was not surprised when he sat on the settee and pulled her against him. His hands were running over her body shamelessly now, caressing her breasts over the thin fabric of her shirt, his mouth never straying far from her lips and neck. She reacted to his touch, and gave him a long kiss that only helped to arouse him even more.

Her hands moved down his chest until they found the hem of his shirt. Before either of them knew what she was doing, she slid her hand under the fabric and touched his chest. She'd seen it before, but now… Now it was different. Now it felt right. He was so warm, so smooth…

He moaned as he felt his tattoos reacting to her touch.  _Not now, not that pain,_  he thought. Her lips were parted, and how inviting they were… He slid one hand up her back…

_Black hair in the reflection of a blade. The fire burning within him._

His fingertips traced along the back of her neck, his fingers sliding into her hair…

_The blood and the magic surrounding him. Cold, so cold, and yet so hot._

He pulled her head against his, meeting her tongue with his own…

_A change. No more magic. No more memories. The pain, engraved in his flesh forever._

He shut his eyes tight as his other hand slid down her back, over her buttocks. He heard her muffled moan, her desire in his mouth… And his name…

_Leto._

He opened his eyes. His skin was burning. He pushed her away gently and stood up.

"Fenris?" she called softly. "Are you alright? You're… glowing."

"I'm sorry…" he croaked. "I didn't mean to… I shouldn't have…" He hung his head.

"I'm fine," she said, standing up and hugging him from behind. "You didn't hurt me."

 _But_ you _hurt_ me. The words appeared in his head and he tried to shake them off, but they still lingered.  _She brought the pain back. She hurt you. She's just another mage._

"No," he said out loud. He detached himself from her embrace and turned to face her. "Perhaps… We shouldn't–"

"You're right," she nodded. "We shouldn't." It took all of her willpower to produce a smile that would reassure him. "We can still be friends…"

He stroked her cheek. "It's not that," he said firmly. "I need to find out… These markings…" He looked at his arm, sore from the experience.  _The skin had been tightened, the skin was about to snap, and he would bleed, bleed until he died…_  "I have to learn more about them."

"Well, now that you can read, you can ask the Templars for access to the Circle Library. They won't keep you. No mage would have lyrium tattoos and survive the process."

"We'll see." He kissed her forehead. "Are you sure you're–?"

"I'm fine. It's… It's better this way," she said, fixing her clothes and her hair. "Could you walk me home? It's a little darker now…"

* * *

She managed to say goodbye to him at the door of the estate – always a smile on her lips. But the moment the door closed, the frustration and the heartache took over her. Somehow, she'd felt as if she'd hurt him. At some point, she'd realized that he wouldn't be able to give her what she wanted. And both things hindered the only thought that she had in her mind when they were together.

_I love you._

She couldn't say it. He wouldn't say it. And the words kept filling every free moment, every spare thought that she had. She felt the tears coming, and she hurried to reach her bedroom before anyone could see her.

"You're home, Mistress? Something arrived for you!" she heard Bodahn say, but she closed the door behind her and hid her face in her hands.

"Is there something wrong, Bodahn?" Leandra asked, coming out of the kitchen.

"I think your daughter may need some time on her own, Mistress," the dwarf said. "I thought that the sight of the white lilies that arrived for her would cheer her up, but I guess that'll have to wait."

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all the readers:   
> Here's a silly Azalea's Dolls thingy I made for the wedding - fav.me/d7i0ql0  
> Sebastian's chant is -of course- part of the Canticle of Benedictions from the Chant of Light.  
> The story updates on Tuesdays on ff.net.


	11. The Broken One

"Of all the people in Thedas," Anders remarked, "you're the one I never expect to see here, at least on your own. True; you've come in the past, but I assumed that since things with your lady love have been moving forward and she lives near your 'mansion', you wouldn't be coming here again. Whatever you have, I'm sure Irya can heal it, unless it's something transmitted sexually. You'd better watch your back if it is." His words met a wall of silence that made him raise his eyes. "Is it?"

Fenris shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"By the Maker…" Anders murmured.

"It is not what you think," Fenris muttered. He looked around. There was a man at the far end of the room, lying down. A woman was sleeping next to him. "There used to be more people here. Have you killed them all?"

"There are usually more women and children in need, and Irina can see them in Lowtown. They feel more comfortable with her. Reading my manifesto out loud does not make me attractive, apparently. And besides, it's been a long time since all these people came to Kirkwall. Some of them are returning to Highever." He left the quill next to the inkwell and stared at the elf. "What is it, then?"

"You speak too much," Fenris commented distractedly. "Should they meet you, the Qunari would sew your lips in an instant."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Look, small talk is not your thing. Spit it out. What'd you get – where, when, and how? And more importantly, is it a risk to Irina?"

Fenris looked around once more. That place was even more depressing than the house in which he was living. He realized that Irina's token, the key to the cellar, wasn't only for Anders to have a quick getaway, but for the mage to join the family at the estate as often as he could. "No," he finally said. "Not that I know of." He coughed nervously. "A few weeks ago, we… I… Well, we…"

"Yooou…? Oh. Oh! You did it?"

"No, no. We didn't." Fenris rubbed the back of his neck. He breathed in deeply and said, "I wanted to, but as soon as things got serious, I started to feel some kind of pain…"

"Oooh, I see! It's pretty common. Come, let's take a look," Anders said casually as he knelt in front of the elf.

"No!" Fenris stepped back. "It's not… It's not that! Not… there." He could feel his skin burning with shame. "This is ridiculous… Forget I said anything."

"Can you speak clearly, man?" Anders demanded. "I'm the closest thing you have to a physician. You wouldn't believe the things I've seen…"

Fenris sighed. "It's my skin. The marks. The lyrium burns," he explained. "As if I was going through the process again. Every time she touches my skin… I see things. They look like memories."

"Well, you're certainly no tranquil. You still can dream, can't you?"

"I don't remember my dreams, but when I awake, I do feel that I've had them."

"I thought the marks had erased your memory," Anders murmured.

"So did I. Apparently, nothing is lost forever."

"What did you see?" the mage asked.

"Nothing coherent. Loose images. I saw myself, in the reflection of a blade. My hair was black. There was magic all around me, as well as blood."

"Were they using your blood?" Anders asked, frowning.

"No." Fenris closed his eyes. "I had killed. In combat."

"You had killed a mage?"

"I was a slave," Fenris shook his head. "I would never have been allowed to face a magister or their disciples in combat."

"Was the magic subduing you?"

"I can't remember…"

"Well, try." Anders rubbed his hands. "This is disturbing." He cast a quick look at Fenris and looked away, but he wasn't quick enough for the elf not to notice it.

"What is it? Is there something you know?"

"I have an idea," Anders said slowly. He looked at his hands for a long while. "When we were down there, in that thaig… You saw something. The lyrium made you see something."

"I saw Justice," Fenris said.

Anders nodded. "And you didn't see him the way people normally do, as the light coming from me. You saw him, the spirit. The shape that he adopted when I met him for the first time in the Fade. The warrior."

"He looked like a man, yes."

"You crossed planes, Fenris. Not many people can do that. Perceiving a spirit within a person… Do you think that normal eyes would get that?"

"I hardly think I qualify as 'normal', wouldn't you say?" Fenris grunted.

Anders shook his head. "The magic around you… It was not holding you back. You were not fighting the mage. There is a possibility, though, that you  _were_  the mage."

Fenris scoffed. "That's the most ridiculous thing–"

"Not any mage," Anders said. "You're an elf… I'm thinking an arcane warrior. Yes – yes yes yes! It would make sense! What you do, that power you draw from the Fade… That's what Justice could do when he possessed Kristoff's body! That's how he kept the  _arcanum!"_

"But… The  _umbra_ …" Fenris murmured.

Anders passed his fingers through his hair. "The  _umbra_ … The residual energy… That's what you've given to Irina. That's why she barely depends on you these days!" He paced up and down the clinic, his eyes darting about. "Oh, they're good… The magisters, I mean." He saw Fenris frown and he shook his head. "No, not like that. I bet…" He looked at the elf. "I bet that underneath the lyrium… Your markings were always there, Fenris. They did not give you the  _umbra._  They tried to burn it out from you."

"I… I don't understand…"

"It was only a matter of time. I'm willing to bet you were watched closely, even since you were a child… The magisters would not allow an elf to become one of them, and killing a promising slave was not feasible… They could still use you as a warrior."

"Stop… Just stop talking," Fenris muttered, holding his head in his hands.

"Though I had a dwarven friend who could also do that… But his reaction to the lyrium was different…"

"Stop talking, Anders," Fenris grunted.

"There was this book in Amaranthine... Oh! Carver's there! We could write to him!"

"I said stop!" Fenris screamed. His head was pounding. If there was a chance that the magic had come from within… No, he wasn't like them. He'd never be like them. And yet… Thought troubling, the mere thought of him having wielded some kind of magical power was empowering. They may have feared him once. But they would fear him again.

He looked up. Anders was watching him, holding his hands together quietly. "You want to see the markings, don't you?" Fenris asked.

"If you would show them to me…" His voice sounded somewhat different, as if he had relaxed. The eagerness he'd displayed before had disappeared, but he still sounded interested.

"Justice," Fenris muttered.

"We are one and the same," the mage replied.

Fenris hesitated. He looked at the other people in the clinic, but they were still asleep. For him it was so strange that others would trust a mage so easily. But he'd seen the way most of the common folk protected Anders and Irina. As long as the mages did what they could do to help, the common people didn't really mind leaving their lives in the hands of someone that could be dangerous and unpredictable. And he… Well, he liked a mage. He was inclined to believe that what he felt for her was a bit more than some passing fancy. She was in his mind more often than he would let on, and he wanted to believe that he was in hers as well. He was aware that he wasn't as affectionate as she might have liked him to be, but in his own way, he cared for her, and he could not bear the thought of seeing her locked up and away from him.

"Fenris…" the voice called, and he looked up. Anders, or whoever he was at the moment, was waiting. He removed his armor and his shirt, baring his torso for the mage.

* * *

She found herself thinking about the flowers dispassionately. They weren't from Fenris, so she didn't really care who had sent them. But part of her felt angry. How come someone else had taken the time to find out about her favourite flowers, but Fenris wouldn't even ask what she liked? She wanted the romance, the wooing… And she wouldn't get it from him.

As she sorted out a few vials, she thought of Sebastian. She knew that Fenris was jealous of the prince, and she wondered whether it was wise to ask if he had sent her the flowers. She considered Sebastian a noble person, though, and she didn't think him capable of cowardly ways. If Sebastian was interested in her in ways beyond the political sphere, he'd surely let her know.

She became aware of a masculine voice behind her.

"Will one of those be enough?" the man asked, trying to contain the cough that had been assaulting him for the past few days.

"This is all I have now," she smiled apologetically, giving him a leathery pouch that gave off a minty smell. "I'll have some more the following week. It should be enough for the moment."

"I'm so happy to have found you… A mage who understand the dangers of magic. I always put my trust on herbs and ointments, and let nature run its course. Thank you, my dear." The man patted her hands in a friendly way as she walked with him to the door.

"Remember, Quentin: no cold or damp places. The Hanged Man always has a roaring fire, and they will not mind having a person there for the evening." She waved the man goodbye and was lost in thought again. That man felt so familiar, as if he was an older version of her father. She shuddered as a chill ran through her veins. Evidently, remembering the dead still made her uncomfortable.

* * *

"She looks a little lost lately," Gamlen said to Leandra, while he watched her and Orana cook. Leandra glanced at the elven maid and then gave her brother a quizzical look.

"Her name is Orana, and she's in the room with us," she said.

"What? No, I'm talking about my niece. Ever since she started having that secret admirer… Head in the clouds, I tell you. Reminds me of you at that age."

"Do you think so?" Leandra asked, as her hands kept kneading.

"Absolutely. And that's a pity. I was enjoying spending some time with her," Gamlen said, shaking his head. "She's serious. I like that."

"She's very much like Malcolm in that aspect. Carver and Beth are more similar physically, and they also inherited his tenacity…" Her voice sounded nostalgic, as if she hadn't talked or thought about her husband in a long time. He'd been her savior, her friend, her lover, and she was grateful to see that he lived in his children. "Irina is just as serious as he was, but physically…"

"She's very similar to Mother," Gamlen commented, looking around the kitchen for something to snack on. "Struck me, the first time I saw her."

"She's an Amell," Leandra said proudly.

"Yes, she's family… Especially with those magic skills she has," Gamlen grunted. "I swear, if the poor girl didn't suffer from that, she would have been married to that prince already." He noticed the elven maid looking at him furtively. "You don't think so, girl?"

Orana blushed and looked down. "I'm… not to talk about the Mistress."

Gamlen and Leandra exchanged glances. "Did she ask you not to?"

"Oh no! No, the Mistress is really nice. She's teaching me to read. I fear it's Master Fenris that won't feel comfortable if I say anything."

"Did he threaten you?" Leandra asked, concerned.

"If he did, you tell us, girl," Gamlen frowned. "We'll set him straight."

Orana smiled. "No, and he wouldn't like it if I called him 'Master'. He is very discreet." She lowered her voice. "But we know that he loves the Mistress, even though he pretends not to, and even if he grunts and is sometimes cold towards her."

"Why would he do that?" Leandra asked her.

Orana seemed to think for a while. "Well, it wouldn't be correct, would it? If the Mistress married him, she would be marrying beneath her."

"Maker's breath," Leandra gasped. "Where do you get these ideas from? What about Mistress Merrill?"

"Oh, it is different for women. Besides, she's one of the Dalish. She was to be the next Keeper of her clan. In her own way, she's just as grand as Master Hawke."

Gamlen sighed. "Listen, girl… We don't think about who was born where or under what circumstances. We were born in this mansion, and we sank low.  _Really_  low. I won't deny that we're here again because people rose to the occasion. I don't like to admit it very often, but I am grateful they did. I wish I could have been less of a coward, all those years ago…" His eyes wondered towards the door to the basement, the way through which his nephew had entered the house and gotten rid of the criminals. But he'd never been strong enough. Then again, his sister didn't have the brute strength, but she'd had the wits and enough charm to petition to have their status reinstated. That was something that Gamlen also lacked. Even his niece, the quiet little thing that always had a kind word for everybody, had managed to raise some kind of spine and was now standing for herself.

"In any case," Leandra said, noticing his brother's momentary distraction, "we love Merrill, and we love you. And I'm sure we'd love it if Irina and Fenris decided to start a family."

"I assume the lad would come to ask for her hand first. Though if she's like you…" Gamlen smirked.

"I was happy with the choice I made," Leandra shrugged. "I wouldn't have had it any other way. And it turned out to be fine, didn't it?"

"That it did, sister," Gamlen nodded. "That it did."

* * *

"Please say you'll come?" Aveline had never been this nervous before, and Irina was slightly amused by the sight of the usually confident woman behaving like that. "I really wouldn't know what to do with him if I was alone."

"Oh, surely you would!" Merrill exclaimed. "You have been married before, you know what to do!"

"I'm not talking about that, Merrill!" Aveline blushed furiously. "I… Donnic is such a nice man!"

"And so are you," Isabela sniggered.

"Shut up, whore. Easy for you, with your… slatternly… Ugh, I can't even insult Isabela anymore!" Aveline groaned and hid her face in her hands.

Why, why was it so difficult to be herself around him? He wasn't incredibly good-looking or charming, but there was something about Donnic that had made her go weak at the knees from the moment they had met, already years before. She'd faced her guilt over harbouring feelings for another man that wasn't her husband. She'd asked the ghost of Wesley for forgiveness, but she knew that there was no such thing as a ghost. What her husband thought did not matter anymore. Some things got broken but not everything could be repaired. She'd lost him forever, and should she give up on the rest of her life just because he wouldn't be there?

"Aveline…" Irina's soft voice called. "It is fine to love again."

The captain raised her head, as if she couldn't believe that she'd been read so well. "I do not know…" she started to say, but Isabela scoffed.

"Come on… The dead shouldn't hold you back. You're the most sensible woman I've ever met and you know it's silly to hold onto a memory. You were lucky enough to have someone who loved you and you loved, but that person's gone." She sat down next to Aveline and sighed. "You were luckier than most people."

Aveline's green eyes stared at her companion in silence. "I wish I knew whether he likes me. If I knew that there's a chance, then… Then I  _might_  say something."

"Well then, we can figure that out tomorrow night, at the tavern. What are we celebrating?"

"The fact that Gascard DuPuis is no more," Aveline replied. When her friends looked at each other and shrugged, she added, "The man that started killing mages some time ago? Remember those women who disappeared when we were trying to track down that recruit, Keran?"

"It's unlike you to celebrate a killing," Irina observed.

Aveline shook her head. "This man hurt many people. We found… the remains of some of the women he abducted. A blood mage, he was."

"Did you  _need_  to kill him?" Merrill asked, shuddering.

"He attacked us. The Knight-Commander had exonerated him when one of the Templar captains, Ser Emeric, had illegally trespassed to further his investigation. That's why I asked Sebastian and the Knight-Captain to come with me. The bastard was hard to take down. You should have seen the number of abominations he raised." Aveline leaned against the back of the chair and nursed the spiced wine that Isabela had poured for her. "We could have done with you two there. Or Anders."

"Well, you can ask next time," Irina replied.

"Hopefully, there won't be a next time," Aveline rested. "And I shudder to think what could have happened if he had seen something in you, Irina."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the bloke's house was close to Fenris's. I heard you've been visiting it rather frequently." There was a glint of amusement in the captain's green eyes. "Anyway, I don't know how I would have reacted if he'd hurt any of my friends. I'm not sure I would have interrogated him, in spite of how merciful I tend to be."

"It's not about mercy," Isabela muttered. "I would have cut that guy's balls off in a second as soon as I suspected he was behind something shady. No questions. Snicker-snack, chop-chop, off they go! Real men don't abduct women and cut them into pieces."

"Agreed." Aveline raised her glass. "To all those women who met their fate at the hands of that piece of shit. May they rest in peace."

Isabela snorted. The others arched their eyebrows. "Rest in peace? Piece? No? What, too soon?"

Aveline shook her head. "I'll be happy if I don't ever see white lilies aga–" She was interrupted by Merrill's spluttering of the infusion she was drinking. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry," Merrill giggled nervously. "I thought I heard you say 'white lilies'."

"I said that. DuPuis used to send his intended victims white lilies for weeks before he abducted them."

Merrill covered her mouth and looked at Irina, who licked her lips nervously. "These lilies… Did they have a reddish sepal?"

Aveline nodded slowly. Irina was now looking past her, and against her will, Aveline turned around. The rare white lilies were arranged in a vase on a table.

"Oh, shit…" Isabela muttered.

The captain stood up and walked to the flowers. She was aware of the silence in the room, but it was better that way. The thoughts swirled around her mind and they were almost deafening. She bent down and smelled the flowers. Impossibly sweet. She shivered. "When did you get these?" she asked slowly.

"Three days ago," Irina said. She saw her friend let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank the Maker… For a moment I thought… How long had you been receiving these?"

"A small bunch, like the one over there, arrived every week for three months. I remember. It was Inan's birthday the week after you received the first one," Merrill said to Irina.

Aveline rubbed her forehead. "Well, at least that will be the last one you'll ever get. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"How was I supposed to know it meant anything?" Irina said, still shaken.

Aveline crossed the room and hugged her friend. "You know your brother wouldn't have forgiven me if something had happened to you, don't you? Shit, I wouldn't have forgiven myself either."

"Well, at least everything ended well," Isabela sighed. "Now we have even more reasons to celebrate!"

* * *

"Where's Aveline?" Varric asked, craning his neck. He and Isabela were keeping an eye on Donnic, who seemed rather content with sitting down and watching the other guards sing bawdy songs and drink.

"She said she'd be here right after the day was done. But how come most of them are here and she's not?"

"Cold feet?" Varric ventured.

"She'd better not," Isabela muttered, "or I swear I'm going to go over there and tell Donnic to pick her up -hands on her buttocks- and fuck her right over the desk in her office."

Varric leaned back and smirked. "You've been thinking about that for a while, haven't you?"

"Oh, you bet I have," Isabela sneered. She saw the door open and Fenris appeared. "Ah, look who's there. Looking as bored with life as always."

"He needs to get laid," the dwarf muttered.

"Varric! Well, I'm sure you know all about that. You and that Bianca of yours…" she purred. "When will you tell us her story?"

"Right after you come clean about that thing that was stolen from you. Oi, elf! Over here!" he called Fenris, who strode towards them, looking around. The place was noisier than usual, no doubt because of the number of guards that were there. "It's good to see you out for a change. You spend too much time in that house."

"I've heard he doesn't spend it on his own, though," Isabela grinned wickedly.

"Ooh, that's right. That clandestine thing of yours… Worst-kept secret in Kirkwall, let me tell you," Varric sniggered.

"I'm glad that you still hold me as a source of entertainment," Fenris grunted as he sat down next to the dwarf. Varric signaled one of the barmaids so that she would bring them another round of drinks. "Where are the others?"

"Looking for someone, eh?" Isabela nudged him.

Fenris rolled his eyes. "What do you want to know?"

"What is there between you two?"

"Wait for the drinks before the gossip begins!" Varric admonished Isabela. "I swear, you have no idea how to listen to a good story…" Edwina left the tankards on the table and Varric handed them to his companions before he sat back, nursing his. "Now… Nothing physical, I assume?" Fenris didn't reply, but the intensity of his scowl was more than clear for the two rogues. "You're not waiting for Sebastian to propose, are you?"

Fenris looked around once more. "Is it me or is it unusually hot in here?"

"Fenris… She likes you," Isabela said, resting her head on her hand. "Like, really likes you. I can tell. I told you so, remember? When we were in Sundermount? And I can tell you like her too. So it's a little ridiculous that you two haven't–"

"We can't," Fenris snapped. "We just can't. Don't ask me to explain. I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Whoa – easy, elf," Varric said, raising his hands. "Don't worry. No more questions."

"It's just… You wouldn't understand," Fenris said, shaking his head. "It's not that–"

The door flung open and Aveline staggered in, bloodied and looking sick. Donnic saw her first and ran to her side. "Captain!" he cried out, as they saw her leaning against one of the tables. "Give her some air! Morith, bring her some whiskey! Aveline, can you hear me?"

Varric, Isabela, and Fenris dashed towards the captain's side, but before they could reach her, Sebastian showed up, looking just as distressed as Aveline. "Fenris!" he shouted. "Where is she? Where's Irina?"

"How should I know?" Fenris growled, still upset by the fact that everyone knew about him and the young mage. "Don't you come from Hightown? She must be home."

"She's not there," Aveline said weakly. "That's the first place we went to, before we…" She had to close her eyes to hold back the nausea.

"I'll check Gamlen's old hovel. You should check Anders's place," the Brother said to the elf. Before he could leave, the elf held him by the arm.

"Will you tell me what's going on?" he snarled. Sebastian looked at the elf's hand with contempt.

"We were wrong," Aveline said, recovering from the shock. "We were wrong. It was not DuPuis. He's still out there."

"You mean the killer?" Isabela asked, horrified. Aveline nodded.

"He killed the templar captain, Emeric. We got the note just a while ago. One of the alleys near the passageway between this part and the docks. I sensed something was off…" Aveline was still light-headed, but Donnic was holding her by the waist in a gesture that seemed intimate to only those who knew the captain's feelings for him. "I came across Sebastian, and the first thing he did was go to the estate. But she wasn't there…"

"What does Irina have to do with this?" Fenris asked.

"The flowers… She was receiving the flowers the killer sent to his victims before he took them away… We caught a glimpse of the guy. A blood mage. There were two of them, working right under our noses."

"Could it be Danarius?" Varric asked Fenris, who shook his head.

"Anso would have told me…" He still didn't fully understand what was going on, but in his mind, every minute they spent there was another minute of uncertainty, and that was something that always made him uncomfortable. "I'll check the house."

"I'll go with you," Sebastian said. "Isabela, check with Anders."

"Varric," Aveline said firmly, now fully recovered. "Come with me. There's one last place, the site where we found the remains. I don't think he's foolish enough to return there, but it's worth taking a look."

* * *

Cold. A chill ran through her naked body. Irina opened her eyes with difficulty. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if something was keeping it closed. Her sight was out of focus. There seemed to be a thick mist, a cloud that was keeping her in place. She tried to concentrate the way Anders had taught her, and she finally managed to see.

It was a red mist.

She stirred and that was when she heard his voice. "Now, dear. Be still. You do not want me to cut too deep, do you?"

Her eyes searched for his face through the blood binding spell that he was using to restrain her, and there he was. His usually gentle face had hardened, his jaw clenched in concentration. Before she could ask what he was doing, she felt it. A sharp pain, spreading all over her body. He was drawing a pattern on her skin with a knife. She whimpered and attempted to heal herself, but he made her look to the side.

"My dear, if you do that, I'll have to draw even more blood from your family. Do you see them?" he asked softly. "There." He took her by the chin and pointed towards the other end of the room. Leandra and Gamlen were tied up and bound by blood. Their arms were being bled and Irina could see their looks of horror.

**.**

_"_ _You can't_ not _tell me these things, darling!" Leandra protested as they walked to the clinic in Lowtown. "I'd die if something happened to you."_

_"_ _Oh, you wouldn't," Irina said, circling her mother's waist with her arm. "You've survived so many things already. I'm starting to think you are stronger than Carver."_

_"_ _Regardless," Gamlen grumbled, "do you think that we'll let you leave the house on your own? Not until you have a husband."_

_"_ _Speaking of which…" Leandra started to say, but Irina gave her such a sad look that her mother decided not to press the matter. However, the look was lost on Gamlen, who considered that talking to a lady of marriageable age was his duty, since he was the closest thing to a father that she had._

_"…_ _and if you like the elf, well… At least the baby will have your ears."_

_Irina smiled. "But I like the elven ears. I wish Inan had had them."_

_"_ _Oh, she doesn't need them to be sweeter than she is," Leandra cooed._

_As soon as they opened the door to Gamlen's old house, he asked, "What are we looking for, then?"_

_"_ _The box with bottles and vials that is in the bigger room, and the sack of bandages to wash," she told her uncle as she crouched to leave some parchment on one of the cupboards. "But really, you didn't need to come here with me–"_

_"_ _Is that…?" Leandra pointed to something white near the fireplace. Irina stood up and walked towards her mother._

_A white lily, almost wilted._

_Irina stepped back. "We have to leave this place. I need to tell Aveline. Uncle!" she said out loud. She went into the other room and saw him enthralled by a light. "What…? Who is it?" She took a look at the man standing in the middle of the room. "Quentin…?" she murmured. The man smiled at her and raised his hands, and Irina saw the blood. "Run!" she shouted to Leandra, who dashed for the door._

_But it wouldn't open._

_Leandra's screaming was the last thing she remembered._

**.**

Her eyes were pleading, but he wouldn't be moved by her. He'd had a goal in mind for years. So many experiments failed… But now it would be different. He'd found a way to bind the body together, and to infuse it with life. Oh, the joy of holding her in his arms again… How many nights had he lain awake during his exile, guilt-ridden for not having been able to save her? Her name filled his mouth and the ghost of her smile drove him to carve the young mage's skin a little further, but not deeper. Deeper would make her lose consciousness.

"I won't cut anything off," he said gently. "I only need your blood. You have the magic I need. Do you know how hard it is to take a mage away from the Circle now? Apostates are always the best kind of mages!" he laughed, overjoyed.

"Please…" she murmured. "You don't need them… They're not mages…"

"But they are family," Quentin replied. "Can't you hear it? The song is in the blood. It reverberates, like fingers on the glass…" He closed his eyes and appeared to listen to something. His lips curved into a smile. "How amazing… Listen! The perfect tune…"

He moved aside and Irina could see a bundle lying on the table. "What's that?" she asked, frightened.

"That is the elf that lives with you, and her baby."

Irina's eyes filled with tears, but it was Leandra who screamed.

"No… My baby… My grandchild…" she managed to say.

Quentin laughed. "No, they're not. It was just a joke. But…" He turned to Leandra. "Did you say 'grandchild'? Oh dear. Oh dear! That's it!" He rubbed his face nervously and sported a maniacal grin. "More family blood! I cannot fail, I cannot fail now…" He crossed the room towards the body. "So close, my love… Wait a little longer…"

Irina saw him uncover the severed head of a woman and kiss her lips. One by one, he took the limbs lovingly and placed them on the floor, arranging them into the shape of a body. His fingers caressed the parts with a longing that Irina now understood, but she couldn't find it in her heart to feel sorry for the man that had hurt her family the way he had.

"I wonder if the bind will hold…" Quentin murmured. "Perhaps I should leave you with some company…" He took the dagger and placed it over his left wrist. He looked at Irina and smiled. "Why should I cut myself now, when I can summon her with your willing blood?"

"Unwilling…" Irina murmured. She was starting to feel the cold more than the pain.

"It won't matter in a while," Quentin said, drawing blood from her thighs with the sharp tip of his blade.

Irina's body started shaking violently; she'd tried so hard, so hard not to scream, but her skin seemed to be ablaze now, and her voice finally escaped her lips when she saw the demon standing beside her.

"Now, dear… Be a good host," Quentin said, stroking her hair. "While I'm gone–"

There was a banging on the door outside, followed by Fenris's voice. "Irina!"

He was there. He was there. Irina closed her eyes and shouted his name. He responded with her name, and then, silence.

"Has he gone?" Quentin asked, poking his head out of the room.

The door was kicked open, revealing Fenris and Sebastian, who quickly shot an arrow to the mage, hitting him on the shoulder. Quentin groaned and closed the other door behind him. "Stay away!" he warned the newcomers. He quickly considered the dire situation he was in. Two of them outside. He needed more power. He looked back at Irina, whose eyes seemed to be having trouble to focus. Not her… She'd be the last sacrifice. He looked to the side and raised his hand. "Come," he said to Leandra.

Gamlen stirred. "Leave her… Take me…"

"How noble of you," Quentin grinned, and he sank his dagger into Leandra's stomach.

"Mother!" Irina shouted. There was a chance to save her… If only she could move…

Oh, but you  _can_  move.  
You only need to ask.

She looked to the side. The flow of time seemed to have stopped. Leandra's eyes were wide open, and Quentin's lips were kissing her cheek, almost lovingly.

You are a healer.  
Your blood is precious to me.  
Why not let me in?  
I will aid you.

The demon looked at her with infinite eyes. She whispered in her mind, forbidden symbols flashing through her memories. Her sister and her father. Her reflection in the water. The fire. The trip across the sea. The loneliness. Fenris.

"Nnno…" she stammered, feeling her body lighter and lighter.

So be it.  
I can always take you when you die.

Time started running again, and Leandra fell on her knees, holding her own entrails in her hands for a brief spell before she collapsed to the side, dead. Her blood powered Quentin's spell, and the door was sealed once more.

"Hah… Hahaha…"

Quentin turned around and saw Gamlen chuckling. "What's so funny?" he frowned.

Gamlen stared at him with his grey eyes. "You're stuck in here… with us. The moment you come out… They will tear you apart…" He continued to chuckle softly to himself, tears running down his cheeks.

"I will find a way out," Quentin growled. "I have to!" He knelt beside the remains that he had collected. After so many years, after that much effort, he would not surrender. He would not–

A silvery blue light caught his attention. Something seemed to have crossed the door. The ghostly presence was unknown to him. He scrambled to his feet and pressed his back against the wall.

"Wh-what are you?!" he screamed.

Fenris grabbed him by the neck and pressed it until he felt the crack of the bones. The blood binds disappeared and so did he. Sebastian kicked the door open and readied his arrow. The demon hissed and hovered over Irina's body.

I will take her.

"Take  _me_  if you dare," Sebastian muttered, as he shot his blessed arrows through the head, neck, and chest of the demon in rapid succession. The creature disappeared with a screech. Sebastian ran to Irina's side, grabbed one of the blankets and covered her naked body with it. "Iri?" he said softly.

Irina looked past him. Fenris staggered inside the room. His eyes found hers and he stumbled towards her.

"Talk to me…" he murmured, trying to recover his strength. The last time he had turned into a lyrium ghost, her arms had welcomed him back to life. But this time, her life force was waning. "Irina…" he held her in his arms. Sebastian took a step back and decided to leave them alone.

"The demon…" she whispered. "It offered power…"

"They always do." He was holding her tight.

"I refused it…" she said, a tear trickling down her cheek.

"I know," Fenris murmured, kissing her forehead. "I know you wouldn't-"

"My mother…" Her voice sounded strained and weak.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But I need you to focus. You need to heal yourself, at least until Anders gets here. You have lost so much blood…"

"I can't…" she murmured, closing her eyes. "The word… I can't think…"

"You will be fine, do you hear me?" Fenris told her, kissing her. Her lips felt cold and dry, and she seemed to be gone. "Listen to my voice," he murmured, and he whispered in her ear the word of power that she had learned for him. He was exhausted, but in his mind there was no other option. He concentrated on his own powers, never letting go of her, repeating the word over and over again, until he saw her lips moving along with his, and her body glowing along as well.

A more powerful light shone over them. He looked over his shoulder and saw Anders. Never before had he been more relieved to see the healer.

* * *

Irina was kneeling before Leandra's tomb. They had planted sweet violets on it. "I miss you," she said softly. "We all do." She heard the footsteps behind her, coming closer. "I couldn't save her, Fenris," she murmured. "What good is magic if you cannot save a life?"

"I cannot answer that," he said, standing next to her and offering her his hand. Once she had stood up, he circled her waist with his arms from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "But I can always listen, if you want to talk about her."

She shook her head. "I'm not ready yet."

"Come inside the house," he said, holding her hand. "It's getting colder now."

"In a minute. I need to be alone for a while." Before he could complain, she kissed him softly.

"I cannot say no, can I?" he nuzzled her. She shook her head and smiled. He kissed her forehead. "I'll be waiting for you in the library."

"Thank you," she murmured, as she watched him go away.

...

 


	12. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW

She opened her eyes, terrified. She could feel her heart beating faster than ever before, and a spine-chilling sensation took hold of her. But there was nobody there. Why, then, did her body refuse to move?

Her mother's eyes still haunted her, after all those months. The gory image of Leandra's demise was embedded in Irina's mind. Her mother had died in fear. There had been no last words between them. No chance to say goodbye.

Now Irina was alone. She still had Merrill and Inan, but her  _family,_  those who had raised her, were gone. Even Carver was so far away, and he rarely wrote. And Gamlen… He had taken Leandra's death worse than they had expected. Living in their childhood home again had brought brother and sister together, finding in each other a companion – perhaps even a friend. Irina's uncle was now unable to let her or Merrill out of his sight. Even Orana was being watched by him, and every evening he walked her back to Fenris's house, where she lived.

Irina sat up and rubbed her face. She hadn't been able to cry for a long time now. She could feel the sadness within, but not a tear would be shed. It was as if something had broken inside, and there was nothing that could repair it.

She looked at her hands. She knew that no magic could have saved Leandra, but knowing that there was this power within her and it was absolutely useless… If anything, it had been a curse on them. She wondered what it would have been like, if her father had not been an apostate, if her mother's bloodline had not been tainted by magic. It certainly seemed that she had no chance of living a normal life.

She got up and covered herself with her warm robe. The fire was dying, which meant that it was almost time to wake up anyway. She curled up in the chair in front of it and stared into the fireplace, as if she was trying to burn the images out of her mind.

* * *

"Whoever is behind this, I swear that when I find them…" Aveline rubbed her forehead as she slumped on the chair. The madness of Kirkwall was getting to her. If it hadn't been for Donnic, she would have stepped down as Captain after Leandra's death. The guardsman had persuaded her against it, telling her that nobody would have been able to figure out that there were two killers working together. But this time… The ties that went from the Qunari to the dwarf were darker than she had expected.

"That woman was clearly insane," Fenris muttered. "I do not know whether she was so before the poison got to her, but in any case, it seems that we are dealing with someone who is willing to double-cross their allies."

"The Arishok certainly wasn't pleased," Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. "For a moment I thought he was going to order his forces to attack us."

"They have a code," Fenris said. "He said it himself: he cannot leave until he recovers what was stolen from them."

"Yeah; he sounded like Isabela, when she talks about that thing she lost before she got here," Aveline mused. She noticed that Varric was unusually quiet. His brow was furrowed, and he was absent-mindedly playing with Bianca's bolt lever. "Varric?"

"Hmm?" the dwarf's eyes kept staring at a point on the wall.

"What's on your mind?"

Varric cleared his throat. "Nothing important, perhaps. I was just remembering something… Carver and I did a job once for someone who wanted to frame us. A Chantry Sister."

Sebastian frowned. "Are you sure she was a true Sister? I refuse to believe that someone who follows the Chant of Light can do such despicable things."

Varric shrugged. "She introduced herself as a Sister. Her bodyguard was a Templar. Maybe the two of them got the garments for some kind of kinky bedroom roleplay and then decided to impersonate agents of the Chantry?"

"Andraste's blessed heart," Sebastian murmured. "What was the name of the Sister?"

"Why? Interested?" Varric sneered. "Eh, I don't quite remember. I should check on my journal. I'll be going now. Are you coming with me, Choir Boy?" Sebastian nodded and the two men exited Aveline's office. Fenris was about to do the same when Aveline called him.

"Say, how's Irina been?" she asked. "I haven't had much time to go to the estate lately."

"Is that so?" Fenris arched an eyebrow. "Or is it because you still feel guilty?"

Aveline blushed slightly. "Has she said something about that?"

Fenris let out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "No," he finally said. "She doesn't blame you. If anything, she blames herself." He looked at his hands. "I can understand her. Having that sort of power and yet, being unable to do anything with it…"

Aveline smiled shyly. "You two are more similar than I thought you were. Will you ever…?"

Fenris raised his eyebrows. "Betting on something against Isabela?"

"No, no! I was… Well…" Aveline looked frustrated. "It's just that I think she loves you, and there's no reason for two people who love each other to be apart, is there?"

Fenris hesitated. He was not comfortable talking about feelings with anyone, especially with someone who was infamous for not knowing how to deal with her own feelings for a subordinate. And yet, even though the discomfort was there, he always felt this warm sensation, a mixture of pride and something that he couldn't identify, whenever someone pointed out Irina's feelings for him. Finally, he said, "It is complicated."

"Ah. Yes, I can imagine," Aveline murmured. "Has Carver written? Is he visiting any time soon?"

"Should he? He is a Warden now. I do not think he would be allowed to leave the Order so easily or frequently. Unless he does what Anders did, in which case, he would probably have to disappear."

"I mean, after Leandra's death. He must have taken it to heart."

Fenris shifted the weight of his body from one foot to the other. "He still has not heard of it."

"What?" Aveline was perplexed. "But why?"

"Irina forbade Gamlen to let him know. She understands that his duty to the Order comes first. Besides, sending bad news would set an awful precedent, don't you think? Every time he gets a missive, he will be wondering if something else has happened. So no, he does not know. He will, though, when I get there."

" _You_  are travelling to Amaranthine?" Aveline asked, open-eyed. "When will that be? And why? Did she ask you to be the messenger?"

"There is a ship sailing there next week. And no, she still does not know about it. I have been postponing this journey for some time, but I think it is time to do it."

"Are you going after Danarius'"

Fenris shook his head. "Why would he be in Ferelden?"

"I don't know? I never know with you…" Aveline muttered. "But then… Fenris, the situation with the Qunari… You saw what happened in that alley. You heard the Arishok. And I know you clearly see what could happen here. I really need your help with them. They respect you."

"I will not be gone for long, Aveline," Fenris said, walking to the door. "But I must leave. The sooner I am out of Kirkwall, the better."

* * *

Irina's chest rose and fell. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone with a feverish light. "Do it again, Anders," she insisted.

"No," the mage panted. "I really can't. You know I can't afford to be mentally exhausted." He sat on a bench and dropped his staff on the floor. "Besides, you're not looking great yourself. You don't want to overdo it."

Irina waved her staff impatiently and almost effortlessly. She had been practicing defensive spells for weeks now, and she went from Merrill to Anders for tutoring. She saw Anders watching her with apprehension, and she thought that perhaps her mood swings seemed confusing for those around her. She oscillated between her morose periods, when she wouldn't get out of her bed, and the frantic ones, in which she wanted to break, tear, and destroy everything in front of her. She needed to feel worn out, to burn off that energy, so that she wouldn't think or dream at all.

Anders beckoned. "Come here," he said softly.

Irina walked to where he was sitting and reluctantly dropped her staff right next to Anders's. She sighed. "Don't worry about me."

"I can't help it," he said, holding her hand between his. " _I_  am supposed to be the mentally unbalanced mage, not you. I may sound selfish, but  _you_  keep me sane. I do not want to see you lose yourself. If something happens to you…" He looked at her.

"What? What if something happens to me?"

Anders huffed. "Have you even stopped to think about the ones you'd leave behind? Merrill, Gamlen, Inan, Carver, me… Fenris. Especially him."

"Fenris," she scoffed. "That man drives me crazy. I cannot touch him, Anders." She blushed. "I'm not even sure what you'll think about it, but… I can't be with him. When we kiss, he's got this look of frustration... I have no idea what to do."

"Really?" Anders folded his arms, amused. "You have  _no_  idea why he'd be so frustrated when you two kiss but you cannot touch?"

"I assume it's got something to do with intimacy," Irina said uncomfortably. "But he looks… pained. It's not only the frustration of not being able to… To…" She moved her hands in an undistinguishable way, failing at signaling whatever she meant. Anders laughed.

"But surely he told you about the reason for the pain, didn't he?"

"Is there a reason?" Her grey eyes looked lighter that morning, and Anders thought that they had never looked more innocent.

"The memories? The recollection of his life before the tattoos? Maker's br- Don't tell me he didn't tell you!" Anders exclaimed.

"Not that I remember, no. Is there something wrong with him?" She sounded concerned now. "I swear, if something happened and he didn't tell me about it…"

"No, it's not serious. He will find out soon, when he gets to Amaranthine… Aaand you didn't know about that either," he said, shaking his head.

Irina clenched her fists. For a moment she remained silent, and Anders wondered if she was considering going straight to the elf's mansion and putting her staff to good use, or if she was going to cry. Her eyes were fixed on an unmarked point on the ground. When she spoke, her voice was softer than her body let on. "Did he ask you not to tell me?"

"No, he never said he'd try to conceal it. I'm sorry; next time I shouldn't presume–"

"Oh, there will be no next time," she muttered as she stood up. "Will you walk with me to his mansion? Otherwise Gamlen will offer to do it and he won't leave us alone there."

"I don't think you'll need that," Anders murmured, looking back at the veranda. Fenris had just come out to the garden and was watching them. Irina followed Anders's sight line. "I will… leave you two alone, shall I? And I'll be taking this as well. Just in case, you know?" He took both staves and rushed back to the house.

"Sorry!" he grinned at Fenris as he passed by the elf, who gave him a puzzled look.

"What about now?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon!" Anders said, closing the door behind him.

Fenris walked down the path towards Irina. It was good to see her outside for a change – the fresh air put some color in her cheeks. Or perhaps it wasn't the fresh air. Irina's deadpan look made Fenris realize what Anders had meant by 'sorry'.

He raised his hands. "Before you speak, there is something I must say first."

Irina breathed in slowly. "Go on, then."

"We're leaving for Amaranthine in five days."

Irina gave him a quizzical look. "I'm sorry, 'we'? That's… not what I expected to hear."

"I know." He waited for her to say something. The way things were those days, he could not really predict how she was going to react. He saw her look down and away towards the place where her mother had been buried. The violets were in full bloom, as they had been since they'd been planted, and Fenris had the slight suspicion that Merrill was behind the unusual vitality of the plant.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

"You need to tell Carver about your mother. And I have business there."

"What kind of business?"

"I thought Anders had told you, since he seems to love being the bearer of news," Fenris quipped. He looked away. "It's about the lyrium. Anders recalls the existence of some books in the library of the Warden base, but since he cannot return… Or won't. I'm not sure which is more accurate…"

"Who else is coming with us?" she asked after a while.

Fenris let out a discreet sigh of relief. "Just the two of us."

Irina shook her head. "Gamlen won't allow it."

"You are not a child," Fenris said, crossing his arms.

"I am to him. He means well."

"I'll have a word with him. Right now, in fact." He turned on his heels and went back to the house. Irina watched him leave in utter bemusement. She stayed behind, knowing that if her uncle objected soundly, she would hear it from where she was. Gamlen never spared words; good or bad, he always spoke his mind. Leandra, on the other hand, had always thought that it was better to keep her beliefs to herself if she didn't agree with other people. Irina remembered those times in which she had asked her mother to accompany her to the services at the chantry, and how Leandra had refused but at the same time encouraged her daughter to go.

She had died far from the Light, and Irina was scared that her mother's soul had been lost forever.

She heard footsteps on the gravel path. Fenris had returned.

"He said yes," he told her.

* * *

"I'm glad Gamlen could persuade Merrill not to come with us. This is certainly no trip to undertake with a baby," Fenris grunted, trying to focus on anything but the sick feeling that had taken over him. The Waking Sea was every bit as rough as they had told him it would be. "You'd think that she would remember it, since her clan also came from Ferelden."

"Neither of us took this route," Irina replied, faring much better than the elf. "The Frozen first, and then the Amaranthine. This one is more direct, but we really had no way to get to Amaranthine from where we were." She tied up her hair, giving him a view of her delicate neck. "At least the weather is fine."

"Fine indeed," Fenris said, looking away. What could he think of? Nothing connected to water, or skin, or wet frocks. Certainly not wet frocks. He tried to ignore the fact that whenever she did up her hair, she looked younger and more tempting. There weren't many places where he could hide in such a vessel.

"But I understand her. If there was a chance for them to see Carver, of course she would want to take it." She smiled and held his hand. "Whatever your reasons are, I'm glad you thought of this. Thank you." She pressed her lips to the hand, but he withdrew it quickly.

"I think I'll go lie down for a while," he muttered, and he walked away. The last thing he needed was the feel of her body –any part of her body, really– pressed against him. The images of the two of them together swirled around his head and he grunted out loud.

"Something the matter, mate?" one of the sailors asked as he passed by. He just shook his head and entered his cabin, closing the door behind him. Before he knew it, his mind was regaling him with thoughts of her wearing a light dress, a silken robe, just the sheets, nothing at all. He groaned, feeling the urge to punch something. Her face, her smile, her lips, her tongue, her taste.  _Stop it,_  he thought.  _You're making this harder._ Oh, how Varric and Anders would laugh at him if they had heard him say that. He could feel the pressure building up in his breeches, the hardening that was there every time he had those thoughts. And Anders's voice, explaining how one should stroke oneself to relieve that tension.

Feeling his hand around his shaft didn't make him feel better – if anything, it brought back unpleasant memories. His hands were rough from the armor and the sword, and hers would be soft. There was no way he could go through with that and pretend that it was Irina's hand doing it. He adjusted his pants and washed himself. Finding out about the marks and the memories couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

"I'd advise you to wait till dawn," the dock master told them. "We're havin' good weather – a dry spell, Maker bless Ferelden. You could be there in two or three hours. But if you leave now, you'll get caught in the middle of the road at night, and if you don't mind me sayin' so," he said, pointing to Irina discreetly, "the missus doesn't look like she's travelled much."

"I suppose it would be better to stay in the city, then. Is there a place where we c–?"

"Oh yeah, m'lord! The Crown and Lion is just as fancy as anything you can find in Denerim. I'll show you the way."

The City of Amaranthine reminded Fenris of Hunter Fell. Wood and stone galore, and a long street filled with the bustling of the market, where vendors peddled their goods shamelessly. Rattles and poison, fruit and bolts – all together in organized chaos. The inn was no exception. Families and merry drunkards coexisted with each other in some strange harmony. Fenris feared that Irina would not take it well, but when he turned to ask for her opinion, he found her watching everything with glittering eyes.

"We will take two rooms," Fenris said to the innkeeper, whose eyes went from him to Irina and back to him with a mildly puzzled expression.

"I'm afraid I only have one room, m'lord. But it's our fancy room. There's a cushioned bench where you can sleep. Or," he said in a low voice, "if it's more inclined to m'lord's tastes, there's a young lad who sometimes performs 'services' for men, in a room at the back."

Fenris's eyes opened wide and for a moment he remained silent.  _Wonderful_ – by being polite, he risked looking like a complete fool. He shook his head, too embarrassed to even get furious over the mistaken assumption. "The room will be fine. No services."

"Fine for me," the innkeeper shrugged. "Go up the stairs, to the left – it's the room with a crescent carved on the door. If you wanna eat, there's some lamb stew tonight. I heard it's good."

Fenris thanked him and led Irina to the room, where they left their things. Since it was still early, they decided to walk around the market. Irina bought some things for the people back in Kirkwall, and Fenris took pleasure in watching her do so. She seemed to be back to her older self, caring and sweet, until she stopped at one of the stalls, her eyes fixed on a small flask.

"Mother had one like that," she murmured when Fenris asked her what was wrong. "I broke it when… The first time my magic manifested, I was… I wanted to wear her perfume. It was the only valuable thing she had, and it cracked in my hands. It crystallized, as if it was frozen. I lied to her; I said it had fallen to the ground. How silly of me. She already had two mages in the house – of course she recognized the spell." She sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, I'm a little tired. Can we go back to the inn?"

They had a quiet dinner, listening to two rhymesters that competed against each other, telling a ridiculous story. Fenris watched them as he drank his ale. The people of Ferelden could be so _colorful_  at times. He cast a quick look at Irina, who seemed to be enjoying herself. ' _Seemed',_  because Fenris knew that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about Leandra. Her lips were smiling but her eyes were not there. He didn't know what she could be thinking about. Reminiscing, perhaps. Or Carver, and how to convey the news. The family that had remained in Kirkwall. Her magic.

He was suddenly aware that she was staring at him, always with the same inscrutable expression, and he had the odd feeling that there was something that she wanted to say, but didn't dare to. He cleared his throat. "Let me know when you want to rest."

"I'm ready," she just said, and stood up.

They walked up the stairs. She didn't look for his hand. He didn't offer it either. Walking close, but at the same time, it felt as if they were miles apart. Fenris couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, utterly lost in her tight-lipped mouth and her seemingly angry eyes. He felt angry himself. He'd never understand her.

He closed the door behind them and looked at her. She was looking out of the window but not really seeing. Lost in thought. For a moment, Fenris considered asking what was wrong, but something in her demeanor made him stay away.

He decided against taking off his clothes and he hoped that she would do that same. He lay on the bench – it was uncomfortably hard and conveniently uninviting. The cushions helped a bit, but for more than one reason, he'd be glad when the morning came. "Good night," he murmured as he put out the candle with his fingers. She didn't say anything.

It felt so strange, lying there, staring at a strange ceiling; knowing that she was there but pretending that she wasn't. Some time went by, and the moonlight crept into the room through the open window. He heard the rustling of the sheets – perhaps she was settling into the bed, ready to go to sleep. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. He was succeeding in doing so, until he heard her footsteps on the wooden floor. "Is everything alright?" he asked, his eyes still closed. She didn't reply. He opened one of his eyes and saw her standing before him, bathed in moonlight and completely naked.

It took him a few seconds to react. He sat up quickly and looked away. "What are you doing?" he hissed.  _Don't think, don't look, don't you dare touch,_ a voice said inside him. "What were you thinking?"

"You," she replied. She raised one of her hands and caressed his cheek as she took a step closer to him. There was no shame in her actions, and her body called him to take her, to challenge the pain and just take her. "I want you." She knelt in front of him, making him hold his breath. "I thought… I thought I wanted something else. I wanted a proper life. Marriage, children, a home. Proper and perfect. But nothing is perfect. And I'm so flawed," she said, touching the scars that the blood mage had left on her, "that I no longer care whether I have it all or not. I don't care, as long as I have you."

"Irina…" Fenris started to say, but something in her made him stop.

"But I don't have you. I  _can't_  have you. You play with me. You draw me close and then push me away. And I want you so badly…" She was so close now that he could feel her warm breath on his skin, promising so much pleasure and pain. "I'm yours, Fenris," she whispered in his ear.

He stood up and took her by the hand. "We can't. I'm sorry. It's… It's too painful. All these memories come to me whenever you touch me, and no matter how much I want you, I'm afraid that I'll lose control." He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her softly. "Forgive me." He could see the tears in her eyes, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Her lips trembled and a sigh escaped her.

He held her close, hoping that she hadn't been hurt by his words. He could feel her small breasts pressing against his chest. "Can I at least have a kiss?" she asked. He held her by the chin and smiled. He pressed his lips against hers, chastely at first, but as usual, her softness took over him. He slipped a hand behind her head and went on kissing her, his other hand sliding over her back. Their lips parted and their mouths met, and he felt her body drawing him in. She was warm and soft, and terribly inviting. He took a step back, but the look of lust she gave him was enough to grab her by the hips and pick her up.

"What am I going to do with you?" he muttered between kisses. He'd once told her that he didn't need her, but he did. His hands wanted to feel her every corner, and his mouth was eager to taste her.

"Tie me up," she whispered in his ear. Fenris gave her an odd look.

"Excuse me?" he asked, hardly believing that someone like Irina could ever consider something like that.

"You don't want me to touch you with my hands. Tie them up to the bedpost. Otherwise I'll do it." She kissed him softly. "I want you. I really do. I've been thinking about it for a while, ever since we returned from the market. Bind my hands together, and please,  _please…_  Take me."

Fenris gave her a fierce kiss that made her shiver. He looked around for something to restrain her with, and found the white scarf that she had bought for him that afternoon.  _The minx._  She'd probably planned this all along. Fine with him. He wouldn't keep her waiting long. He bound her hands together delicately, and she struggled to make sure that it was properly done. When it was, Fenris kissed her on the lips and knelt on the bed beside her.

His fingertips traced her jawline while his thumb stroked her lips. She kissed it slowly, letting her mouth envelop it gently as she looked into his eyes. His fingers pattered down her neck and her delicious throat, and he gave in to the urge of biting her, suckling on her skin lightly, making her moan and gasp when his fingers moved down her chest and cupped one of her breasts delicately. Fenris looked at the contrast between his dark skin and her paleness, and a smirk was painted on his lips when he rubbed her nipple with his thumb. She had started to raise her hips, and he was so tempted…

He slithered down and placed himself between her legs. He could see how much she wanted him – no, not  _want;_  it was sheer need. Her body undulated under his touch. His hands traveled all over her body, his fingertips and tongue leaving invisible trails on it, until he felt that she was ready for his touch. One of his fingers moved over her most intimate place, no longer secret to him, and skillfully found the nub between her folds. He saw her frowning and opening her eyes in surprise, evidently unaware of what sensations that could bring. Her legs tightened for a while, but his fingers kept rubbing her, sometimes delicately, sometimes in circles, until she relaxed again and let out a long-contained moan.

"Please…" she whimpered. "I need you…"

Of course she needed him. Fenris knew that his stroking her alone wouldn't be enough. The sight of her squirming in ecstasy, her moaning and biting her lips… It was almost too much for him, and he'd have to be a statue not to be moved by those signals.

He stood up and removed his clothes for her, letting her take pleasure in watching his body. Her curiosity was evident when he removed his breeches, revealing no undergarments. He saw her fingers twitch, eager to touch, and he found himself almost wishing she could do so.

He knelt between her legs, bringing her hips forward, and tentatively slipped between her folds. She shivered with anticipation and he saw her chest paralyzed, as if she was holding her breath. "It might cause you some pain at first," he told her. "Tell me when you want me to stop."

She nodded and waited. His hands stroked her legs, sliding up and down her thighs, and before she knew it, he was slowly pressing into her. Her body said no, her mind said yes, and when his hand moved over her belly, she arched her back and let him in. It was a sharp, blinding pain, only for a few seconds. His voice was speaking to her, telling her that he was going to move, and she bit her lips. She'd wanted this. There was no way back now.

And why would she want a way back? The pain had turned into a fire that was consuming her; his hands were flames licking up her body, and she wished he would never stop. His hands guided her hips, sliding into her deeper and deeper, faster and faster, until she thought that she was going to pass out from the pain and the pleasure. She looked at him and he seemed lost into her, his green eyes baring his soul – and hers.

"Don't stop," she panted after a while, having found the perfect rhythm.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he moaned, making her shiver with pleasure.

She felt light-headed, as if she was falling off a high place. She felt his fingers rubbing her nub and his tongue sliding into her mouth, and how she wished she could do something for him… Something… Anything…

She arched her back, moaning loudly. Soon, she wouldn't be able to contain it anymore. He moaned in her ear and she felt his shuddering over her, something warm and pleasant spilling into her. That made her feel… Made her feel…

Her lips let out a deep sigh…

She felt his body moving aside, and as she felt him untying her and kissing her lips softly, she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

They arrived at the Keep the following morning. Carver's squad was expected to return in two days, but they were welcome to stay with the Wardens until they did so.

"I do hope our library has what you are looking for," the Lieutenant-Commander said when Fenris stated the main purpose of their visit. "Although nothing has changed since Anders left, so it should still be there."

"I'm surprised that you're not chasing after him," Fenris observed.

The Lieutenant, a dark-haired man with grey eyes and noble bearing, shook his head. "I would do so without hesitation. But the Warden-Commander left that to my discretion, and this place is too peaceful to disturb. Besides, the Seneschal wouldn't be happy if Anders returned." He hesitated, fearing that he'd said too much. "But I digress. Here we are." He opened the door to the library, which was as big as the one in Irina's estate back in Kirkwall. "Enjoy. I'll be in the main hall."

"Do you know about Justice?" Fenris asked.

The man stared at him dispassionately. "We suspected. Still, Justice is no demon, and Anders is harmless. He's always been, and I'm willing to bet he'll always be." The Lieutenant nodded and closed the door behind him.

Irina was accompanying the Seneschal on a walk around the grounds. He was telling her about how difficult things had been in Ferelden for some years, but how hopeful they were that they could start rebuilding, little by little.

"From what Carver says, it looks as if you're nicely settled in Kirkwall," he observed.

"We are. He did so much for us. I'm afraid my visit won't be a pleasant one, though. There's some news I must convey…"

"Lately, it seems that everything is bad news," the Seneschal observed. He was a young man, barely older than she was, but he moved around with the air of someone who knew his place in the world and was comfortable with it. His auburn hair and green eyes were amicable, and Irina recognized him as a mage. "That's why we cling to the good ones," he smiled. "Like when your brother told us that you are Amells."

"We are Hawkes," Irina corrected.

"Yes, but your mother is an Amell, isn't she? As it turns out, my husband is an Amell."

Irina tried to conceal her surprise. "Anders never told us… About… Amells in the Circle. And my mother never had communication with her family. Not after she eloped with my father."

The Seneschal arched an eyebrow. "Well, yes, I suppose there are a lot of things that Anders wouldn't tell you…"

A stable boy approached them. "Seneschal, Teyrn Cousland is here."

"And my brother pays us another visit. Let's hope for more good news," the young man smiled. They saw a big man approaching them, one of his arms missing.

"Gwyn!" Lord Cousland shouted as his younger brother trotted up to him. The two men embraced and patted each other on the backs. "I'm Fergus Cousland," he introduced himself to Irina, who had thought it best to remain behind.

"A pleasure to meet you, milord. Irina Hawke."

" _Lady Amell,_  actually," the Seneschal smiled.

"Amell? Like Torrian?" his brother asked.

"Precisely. We were talking about families."

"Never an easy topic," Fergus sighed.

* * *

"I can't seem to read some parts of the book," Fenris said. "It's like my vision becomes blurred, and the words seem to dance in front of my eyes."

"Some books on magic have that effect," Gwyn replied, and Irina nodded. "It is surprising that you've managed to read anything, actually," he said, looking over Fenris's shoulder. "Then again, the arcanum in this book seems to speak to elves. Velanna could read it, I'm sure. Nathaniel, will she be back soon?"

"Her group was supposed to meet Carver's and they're expected to return together," the Lieutenant replied.

"Is there a chance that we could take it with us?" Fenris asked. "Carver's wife… She's a Dalish..."

"So is Velanna," the Seneschal smiled. "Trained to be the First of her clan."

"So was Merrill," Irina exclaimed.

"Well, what do you know?" Gwyn beamed. "More and more coincidences!"

The days passed by quietly. Both the Seneschal and the Lieutenant-Commander made them feel as if they were at home. Fenris and Irina didn't have time to spend on their own, but occasionally they would share a secret smile or a slight touch of fingertips on each other's hands. She was smiling again, and Fenris thought that everything they'd done was worth it if it meant that she would be happy again.

One afternoon, the Wardens returned. Carver had been transferred from Stroud's command temporarily and he'd been leading his own scouting squad. The Wardens were loud and demonstrative when they were together, and Carver was no exception when he saw his sister. He picked her up effortlessly and spun her around.

Fenris looked at them in the distance. Irina had been smiling, but now something seemed to be wrong. Carver was frowning and resting his hand on her shoulder, and she'd hung her head. Her delicate back was convulsing, and Fenris knew that the news was being told. He looked away, hoping that she could still return to the way she'd always been.

* * *

Aveline pressed her boot against the throat of the man. "Tell me who hired you, or I  _swear–!"_

"What?" the guardsman mocked her. "Are you going to kill me? You don't have the guts to do that!"

"She's got more balls than you," Isabela said, crouching beside the man. "I won't let her do it. I'll cut you open myself, and we'll see if  _you_  have the guts…"

The man's eyes reflected the fear that he felt. He knew that even though the Captain never acted dishonorably, the same couldn't be said for her occasional companions. "Why don't you ask your precious Brother there?" the man spat. "One of them Chantry folks did it. The Grand Cleric did it!"

Sebastian snorted. "Don't be daft. The Grand Cleric would never–!"

"I was given a note with her seal!" the man shouted. "It's in my pocket!"

"Don't get any ideas or I'll cut that off too," Isabela said as she slipped a hand in the pocket. She took out a folded piece of paper which she handed in to Sebastian. His face remained impervious. He gave one look at Aveline.

"Take him in," he told her.

"Of course I will," Aveline said as she punched the man unconscious. "Well?"

"It is the seal, but not her handwriting. Mother Petrice, you said, Varric?"

"That's the one," Varric replied.

Sebastian stared at the note. "I will keep an eye on her," he promised.

...


	13. Like water

Velanna returned to Vigil's Keep a few days later, having missed her meeting with Carver's squad. When Nathaniel had asked about the reason for her delay, she'd just shrugged and said, "What had to be done was done. What else do you want from me?" Nathaniel had pressed his lips disapprovingly but remained silent, and then he'd dismissed her. Fenris, who had been watching the whole scene from the smithy's station, wondered why the Lieutenant-Commander had allowed her to talk to him like that.

He soon found the answer to that, when he finally got to meet Velanna on his own. The woman was certainly no diplomat. The only one that didn't seem to be afraid of her was a perky little dwarf who had also arrived from an expedition, and who looked too busy to care about what the elven woman said.  _She certainly is no Merrill,_  Fenris thought, as Velanna examined the book on Arcane magic for him.

"Hrm," she grunted. Fenris watched the blonde elf with apprehension. "Well, looks like that oaf might be right this time. Pants off. Don't give me that look; I have to check for marks." She raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Fine, but I am not removing my undergarments," Fenris protested as he took his breeches off. "There are no marks  _there._ "

"Fine with me," she shrugged as she examined him. "Is he…?" She cleared his throat. "Are  _they_  fine? Anders and…"

Fenris blinked. "I am starting to see that the whole Anders-and-Justice business is not the best kept secret."

"Well, I offered myself. To host him, I mean." Velanna signaled Fenris to take off his shirt. "It wouldn't have been purely altruistic, of course. We both – well, the three of us, actually; the Seneschal also did… And his husband as well… Anyway, all of us recognized the need to do something with him. It was a sad case, especially for the family of the body he was possessing – turn around."

"Anders told us that there was no choice," Fenris shuddered. Velanna's fingers were icy. "That Justice was trapped outside the Fade."

"Yes, I know how the story goes, I was there. Lift your arms, I need to see if there's something there… He's no demon."

"Justice?" He heard Velanna snort and he felt stupid. "Anders says that he is no longer sure that Justice is the same. He says that his anger changed him. Sometimes it is hard for him to control the power. It can certainly be… formidable."

"Well, that's why I said that in my case, it wouldn't have been out of love. Turn around." She held him by the chin and made him look up. "Ironically, it was Nathaniel who gave us the idea. Not directly, of course, but I overheard him talking to Justice once… When he found out, he didn't approve of what we'd done, and it took us quite some time to persuade him not to tell the Commander about it… It's a good thing the Seneschal can get away with a lot of things when he reports to the Commander," she smirked. Her cold fingers pressed his muscles as she kept him within arm's reach.

"So then, why Anders?" Fenris asked. "I would not have deemed it wise to let him be the host."

Velanna's lips became thinner. "I had something that needed to be done. Someone to look for, and look after. Family matters. And the other two… Well, they have each other." She took Fenris's shirt and breeches and gave them back to him. "Anders had nothing. In fact, I think he didn't even have a cause before Justice. I'm glad to see there's some purpose in his life. In any case… The arcanum marks are there, and the lyrium is connected to it by the umbra. I'm pretty sure that you'll be able to get back to fighting without pain in no time."

"I can fight alright," Fenris said.

"Then why have I been examining you?"

"The memories," Fenris muttered.

"Oh, the  _intercourse!_  Right… Well, it's basically the same thing. You need to burn off that energy. So, instead of withdrawing, you just have to keep at it." She was mildly amused by the look of confusion in his face. "It's like removing a bandage from a festering wound. If you're going to do it, then you should do it quickly, but you should go all the way. The pain will gradually go away, and so will the memories, I guess. Do you want them?"

"The memories?" Velanna nodded and Fenris pondered for a while. "I am not sure. I wish I knew things about my life before this," he said, looking at his marks. "But part of me… Part of me is content with what I have nowadays."

"Maybe that's why the memories are particularly painful," Velanna said, putting the books away. "That part of you might be telling you that there's no reason to live in the past, and whatever you are now is what you've decided to be."

"The lyrium was not my decision," Fenris murmured.

"But you don't know that, do you?" Velanna smirked. "You never will, unless you embrace the truth."

"And what truth would that be?" Fenris asked bitterly. "That I have always been a slave, lyrium or no? That I will never look normal? That my Master may always come back for me?"

"That, or that there's a woman out there who doesn't give a hoot whether you were a slave, a mage, or a warrior." Velanna shook her head. "I've seen her looking at you. You could be bald and lame, and that little thing out there…?" She pointed to Irina, who was practicing spells with a mage under Carver's supervision. "She would still care for you. And I know you care for her. You wouldn't be asking about it if you didn't."

Fenris stared at her and nodded silently.

"I will examine her as well, if you wish. I'm intrigued by her absorption of the umbra, anyway, so I'd do it with or without your blessing. What I don't understand," Velanna said, "is why Anders sent you all the way here. He could have bought a manual in Kirkwall. I've always heard the market at the Gallows is one of the best stocked in the Free Marches. Unless he actually meant for you two to spend some time together…" She shrugged and left the room, leaving Fenris speechless.

* * *

"Shit," Isabela muttered as she wiped her daggers. She looked back at Varric and sighed. The dwarf seemed equally uncomfortable and helpless.

"Blondie… It was… It wasn't your fault…" he said, taking a step towards Anders. He was kneeling in front of the body of a young mage. "She was already injured…"

"I was a healer, Varric," Anders said blankly. "I chose to be one. It was the only way I could afford my passage from town to town, whenever I escaped the Circle." His fingers tugged softly at the torn robe of the apprentice. "People will always aid healers, just as healer will always aid people. But I chose to be one. Not this. Not a killer." He stared at his hands as if they belonged to someone else. "I should have stopped… I should have refrained myself…"

"You cannot control him anymore. Justice, Vengeance, whatever you want to call him," Isabela said harshly. "That could have been Irina–!"

"Never!" Anders boomed, standing up and dashing towards Isabela. "Never, do you hear me?!" His eyes were unusually blue, and Isabela pushed him back.

"You don't get to shout at me!" she hissed, baring one of her blades. "Leave Anders alone, demon!"

Anders roared. "You don't understand! He changed me!"

" _You_  changed him!" Isabela shouted as she struggled with Varric, who was holding her back. "You and your ridiculous ideals of justice! This is not your world! For everyone's sake, before something else happens, leave him alone!"

"I can't…" The voice came out so quietly that neither Varric nor Isabela could tell if it was Anders or Justice speaking. "There is fear within… There cannot be a separation. Neither of us would know how to live without the other anymore."

"That's not true…" Isabela sighed.

"You do not know that." He remained silent for a while, and when he spoke again, his voice was as human as always, and his amber eyes looked infinitely sad. "I changed him, he changed me, we changed each other… Any way you want to look at it, there's been a shift – inevitable and gradual, but there's no way back now. I thought that doing this, helping the Mage Underground, would appease us. No violence, just… Walking the quiet passages, leading them out of here… But this…"

He turned to the body of the young woman. He could still hear her screaming and her desperate pleas to the group of Templars that were taking turns to have a go at her, incited by their captain. The Red Squad, as they'd been dubbed by the ones that had managed to escape their clutches. Anders had heard about them.

He hadn't been able to contain Justice when he'd seen them. Justice always took over when Anders's heart was vulnerable. Isabela had been right – that could have been Irina. She was just as young as his friend was when he'd started mentoring her. A blind panic had stricken him, rendering him helpless, and the part of him that was Anders had found itself overwhelmed by the spirit. He'd wanted to stop, but his own screaming had been drowned by the deafening cry of war that Vengeance had let out. He'd been shown flashes of the fight – the Templars had gargled, their throats crushed with his staff or trampled on with his boots. The blood had flowed around them in a crimson rain that seemed to have no end. His companions had fought a battle that wasn't theirs. And if the girl hadn't been conscious, she could have survived.

But she had seen everything, and she had seen him. And she had gone on screaming until there was only one word coming out of her mouth.

_Demon._

Reality had become a blur after that. His mind was absent more and more often. He was losing his grasp – he was falling and he realized that he had jumped in the first place: he'd jumped head-first into the unknown.

He knelt down by the girl again and closed her eyes. He wished there was something he could do about it, but he knew that there was no way to undo anything.

As if she'd read his mind, Isabela murmured, "We make mistakes to learn from them, Anders, and they make us who we are. Don't you forget that."

* * *

As they rode back to Amaranthine, Fenris noticed that Irina was unusually quiet. He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that they were finally alone, after so many days of living with the Wardens. They had barely had time to talk about what had happened between them at the inn, since they'd been escorted from the city to the keep by a junior Warden. Carver had offered to escort them back, but Irina had told him that she was afraid that her heart would break if she saw him standing at the docks, waving at her.

Then again, Fenris knew that she could be crafty. That stunt she'd pulled at the inn? It had been daring and unlike her. Though so had been her following him to the Holding Caves, or her kissing him first. And how could he have forgotten that she'd slipped his hand underneath his shirt? After all, that was why they'd gotten themselves in that mess.

"I was thinking…" she said slowly. Fenris looked at her, intrigued. "Does the ship leave today?"

"No, tomorrow morning, if the weather's fine. Why?"

"Oh, it's just… Perhaps we could stay at that little inn again." She shrugged indifferently.

 _Oh, crafty it is, then._  "Well, yes. I've already asked the innkeeper to save us two rooms," he said languidly. "You know, so that we're both more comfortable."

"How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I can't wait to get there and soak my body in some hot water. Velanna gave me some oils that I'm dying to try!"

"Did she?" He realized that he was losing the game, but he didn't mind, because the outline of the city was in sight already.

"Oh, yes. And I must say, all this riding really makes me want to get there as soon as possible." She lightened her seat and squeezed the horse with her legs, riding onwards. His green eyes landed on her curved back and the movement of her raised hips rocking underneath the breeches. He shortened the reins and squeezed his legs hard. He certainly enjoyed following her.

As they returned the horses and paid for the fee, he was aware that Irina was subtly brushing her fingers over his back and his arms. It was a light touch, but it was enough to keep him on edge. He realized that he wanted to be with her more than he could ever express it. She was his air, just like water to him: something that he'd let into his life and from which he could not see himself living apart.

They greeted the innkeeper, who discreetly told Fenris that there was another room available, should he want to make use of it. The glint in the man's eye was hard to miss when Fenris informed him that it would not be necessary. He smiled sagely and offered him some early supper that they took, since the hot bath wouldn't be ready for some time.

Sitting right next to Fenris, Irina was making a huge effort not to look at him. She'd occasionally bite her lower lip, remembering Velanna's advice on how to handle Fenris's pain, hoping that she could make him feel at least half as fine as he had made her feel. The memory of his hands on her was hard to shake off, and suddenly she found herself breathing more heavily.

"Is it too hot?" Fenris asked, looking at her. Irina blinked. "The meal."

"Oh! No, no. No…" She chuckled. "I was just thinking."

"May I ask what about?" His voice was low and polite, and she could see that he was sincere. It was evident that there were times in which he had no clue what was going on in her mind, and she felt relieved that he still thought of her as something precious and fragile, something he had to protect. She liked the idea of him standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her… His rough hands running over the light fabric of her dress… "You're doing it again," he droned. "That sort of sigh you do… What is it?"

"I want you," she murmured. Her voice was so soft and his silence so intense that for a moment, she thought that she hadn't said it out loud.

But then he whispered in her ear. "Say that again." Oh, that voice – how it made her quiver, pulling from secret strings that she'd never known she had.

She giggled and turned to him. She covered her mouth from the sight of the other people in the room. Fenris shivered in anticipation. Hearing her say she wanted him was one of the best things he'd heard in his life. But instead, he felt her teeth, raking on his earlobe lightly, and her tongue, teasing him.

He grabbed her by the hand and ran upstairs, as she gasped and apologized to those he'd pushed out of the way. As soon as they entered the room, they saw a young man filling the wooden tub with hot water.

"Out!" Fenris shouted. The boy gave him a frightened look and dashed out of the room.

"I'm sorry!" Irina had time to say before Fenris closed the door behind him. He slipped his hand behind her head and parted her lips with his own, kissing her hungrily, tasting her tongue as if it was the sweetest thing. She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his, and moaned when he grabbed her by the hips, holding her against him, showing her how much he wanted her.

"The bath…" she pointed out between kisses.

"What about it?" he asked, kissing down the curve of her neck.

"It's ready… We should… We…" The sentence died in her lips as she let out an ecstatic sigh, feeling his bite on her neck and his hand between her legs. "I want to… Please, this time…"

He let go of her and took a step back. For a brief moment she was afraid that she'd discouraged him, but the smirk on his face and the way he took off his clothes for her told her otherwise. She remembered how big he was –the ride to the keep had been rather long and painful the morning after the deed– and she could not help but feel that his body was simply perfect. She reached out to touch him, but then she remembered...

"Don't worry about the pain," he reassured her. "I'll handle it."

She removed her clothes for him and took pleasure in watching him wanting to feel her. He could barely keep his hands to the side of his body. She held him by the hand and led him to the wooden tub. "Get in," she commanded.

"It's too small for the two of us," he observed, running the back of his fingers over her breasts. He saw her nipples perk up under his touch and he licked his lips in anticipation.

"I'm good at riding," she said softly. He sat down in the tub and watched the water rise a bit. He thanked the stars for having kicked the boy out before he could fill the tub completely. He saw her taking a little flask out of a pouch. As she dipped a foot into the wooden tub, Fenris had to hold back from running his fingers over her inner thighs. She quickly sat astride him, feeling his manhood pressing against her, and she considered rocking her hips gently. The weight of the little flask in her hand reminded her why she'd have to wait a tad longer to enjoy herself.

"I'm supposed to coat my fingertips with this," she said, showing it to him, "and trace the marks on your chest. Are you ready?" she asked, almost apologetically. He nodded and swallowed hard as she softly pressed her fingertips against his skin…

_The Tevinter sun blinded him. His mouth tasted of dust and ashes._

The gentle pattering on his skin felt so warm, so relaxing, and at the same time…

_Victory was his, but then he looked around. They were not smiling._

She wanted to please him so badly. His eyes were closed, and she could see him struggling with the pain…

_A woman was weeping, and a child with fiery hair watched him in fear._

Her fingertips had traced every single line on his chest, and still he didn't seem to be getting better. Her body had memorized the marks, and she allowed herself to relax against his chest, her breasts touching his warm skin…

_His body was not his any longer. The chains were bleeding him gradually._

Her tongue ran over his neck, slowly. She heard him whimper, but was that pain or pleasure? She was unsure whether there was something else she could do…

_Does he not want his reward? Is he a coward?_

She slipped her hand under the water, between them, and found his manhood, still erect but going soft from the pain. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft and stroked it gently…

_He was screaming. The smell of burning flesh invaded his nostrils._

Her hand was moving slowly but steadily, feeling him hardening again. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his head towards her, nibbling on his lower lip…

_Every inch of his skin felt the pain of something being severed. His body shuddered…_

"Fenris…" she whispered in his ear. She wanted to feel him; she wanted him to return to her from wherever he had gone…

_Water droplets fell on his hot-blooded chest, soothing the pain…_

She washed the oil off his marks as she watched him tilt his head back and let out a sigh…

_It smelled like flowers and herbs now. Small, delicate hands were healing him…_

She cuddled against him, feeling the water cooling down around them…

_Her hands were moving over his stomach, and he looked into her silver eyes…_

"Come back to me," she whispered, nuzzling him.

_And he knew it then. He knew that he loved her._

Fenris opened his eyes, feeling exhausted, and found Irina curled up against his chest, snoozing. The water was cold now, and she was shivering slightly. He wondered why she hadn't left the tub before. It took him a few seconds to realize that she was covering him as much as she could, trying to keep him warm.

He kissed her on the forehead and she sighed. "Wake up," he said softly.

She nuzzled him and kissed his neck. "Did it hurt?" she asked.

"Pretty much. But I'm still alive… And I want to stay that way, so we'd better get out of this tub before we both catch something."

She stood up and stretched, but when she was about to come out, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

"I'm all wet," she protested. "How are we going to sleep on a bed that's wet?"

"Who said anything about sleep?" Fenris asked, drying her body with one of the towels that she had bought at the marketplace. Soon, the cloth was discarded, and it was only his hands running over her body, making her arch her back. Those rough hands, the hands of a warrior, could grope her or caress her at will, teasing her enough to make her moan for more, but always leaving her wanting...

When she felt his tongue between her folds, her eyes opened wide. What was he doing? How could he…? Oh, but it felt infinitely better than his fingers. Irina bit her lips and suppressed a wild moan. She ran her fingers through his hair, not knowing whether she wanted him to stop or carry on with his act. Eventually, when she felt that she was getting closer to the point of release, she pulled him apart.

He lay beside her and kissed her deeply, and was more than surprised when she used her own tongue to leave a trail over the marks on his skin. He was afraid that he'd feel the pain again, but instead, he got to feel the velvety warmth of her mouth on his body. He could get a view of that red softness running down his chest, while her hands stroked his thighs almost wantonly.

Before she could go any lower, he held her by the arms, picked her up, and pinned her down. His hands were restraining her wrists, and his mouth covered her neck, grazing the delicate skin there with his teeth. He heard her moan loudly when he sucked on it. One of his hands moved between her legs, and so did he. He pulled her hips against his, sliding into her slowly, giving her time to feel him. She struggled to free her hands and he let go of them, taking the chance to slide his fingers up her back, digging them into her shoulders and pulling her against him, moving harder and faster into her.

She gasped and dug her fingernails on his back, holding on to him. "Harder…" she whimpered in his ear.

He slowed down. "Ask me nicely," he growled softly, teasing her earlobe with his tongue.

"Please…" she moaned, running her hands down his back, and firmly lodging them over his hips. _"Please, Fenris…"_

His name on her lips always aroused him. He pulled on her hips and began thrusting into her more forcefully. There it was – that heavy breathing, that panting of hers that drove him crazy. Time seemed to flow slowly as they lost themselves into each other. Her hands moved over him like water, feeling him, pushing him into her until she let out a final moan with rapture, and he thrust into her one final time, shuddering, moaning with release.

He rested his forehead against hers. She cupped his face in her hands, her chest still rising and falling sharply. He kissed her on the lips so sweetly, so softly, that for a moment every other thing in the world ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, together.

"I love you," she murmured sleepily. Before she fell asleep, she heard his words in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

He'd promised he'd never leave her.

* * *

"You have already dealt with the Arishok, Captain," the Viscount said. "Several times, in fact. I assume that if your head is still on your shoulders, it is because he holds you in high esteem."

"It is difficult to say, Excellency," Aveline replied, inwardly cursing Fenris for not having returned soon as he had promised. "The code of the Qunari–"

The Viscount shook his head. "Spare me the details, Captain. As if I didn't have enough with my son gallivanting with some of them… I feel that this matter is getting out of control. And if the City Guard cannot do anything about it, then I must take this matter to the Templars."

"But don't you see?" Varric interjected. "It  _was_  a Templar who organized this rally! And it was a Mother of the Chantry that encouraged him!"

The Viscount grew pale. "If that is true…" he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I don't suppose you have proof of this?"

"She practically confessed–!" Aveline started to say, but the Viscount raised his hand and looked at Sebastian.

"What do you say, Brother? Would a Mother do this? Are you willing to speak against those of your kind in order to condemn the slaughter of these Qunari?"

Sebastian looked at Aveline, whose eyes seemed uncertain. She was having doubts about him. He himself felt that way. He licked his lips quickly. "Excellency… This Mother… She has obviously strayed from the Light. Her judgment has been clouded by misguided zeal. I'll make sure to convey the news to the Grand Cleric, and I am certain that she will find a way to make her confess."

The Viscount's light blue eyes seemed to pierce through Sebastian's ocean blue. "Very well," he said eventually. "What do you recommend we do with the bodies, Captain?"

Aveline felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. She'd thought that she was prepared to be in charge of whatever circumstances were thrown her way. But she'd discovered that some things were more complex than politics, something that she hadn't believed to be possible. She briefly fantasized about someone actually making the decision for her, because she felt that she was standing on the edge of a cliff, and she didn't know if she would survive the fall.

"Burn them," she replied. "The Qunari still don't know that they are here, and it is safer to do that than dispose of them somewhere along the Wounded Coast."

The Viscount nodded. "It shall be done."

...


	14. Blood red

As Varric told her what had happened with the mage, Irina remained silent, her hand holding Anders's all the while. She could see that her friend was mortified beyond measure, and that he'd probably never forgive himself. "If anything, the hands of all of us are bloodied," Varric sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I should have knocked him out when I saw he'd lost control. She should have stopped screaming–"

"It wasn't her fault… She was not in her right mind…" Anders's voice sounded strained, and he covered his face with his hands.

"And the Templars…" The dwarf shuddered. "You know I don't like to take sides, Princess, but that bunch… They had it coming. Vicious, all of them. The Chantry in this place is a disgrace. Between those and the one who got the Qunari delegation killed…"

"The Qunari delegation?" Irina asked, perplexed.

"Oh, that's right. You haven't heard about that… I'm kinda hoping you won't have to anymore, but something tells me that we're gonna be knee-deep in shit soon." Varric nursed his tankard and watched the two mages in front of him. For a moment he considered telling them to run away; tell  _all_  of his friends to escape that city, for nothing good appeared to come out of it. But then what? 'Run for the hills' would lose its appeal when they realized that they'd have to leave all comfort behind, and if there was something that Varric liked was comfort. Even his room at the Hanged Man was a little haven where he could write and talk shop when necessary. No – unless something big happened, he wouldn't trade that security for anything in the world.

* * *

"You did  _what?"_  Fenris growled.

"Told him to burn them!" Aveline said, clenching her fists. "What was I supposed to do? Have them delivered to the compound and tell the Arishok,  _'They're a little dead but don't worry, we've already dealt with the one who killed them'_?"

"Yes!" Fenris shouted. "You do not hide something like this!"

"Should we have given them an honorable funeral?"

"No, the body… The body's not important. Their swords… What did you do with those?"

Aveline looked at him nervously. "Gone." She saw Fenris rub his face and breathe in and out slowly. "We couldn't find them; maybe the zealots took them! If you'd been here–!"

"Do not try to blame this on me, Aveline," Fenris shook his head.

"You said you would help me! I've dismissed claims against you because you were supposed to collaborate in this matter! What was so important in Amaranthine that you couldn't wait to go there?"

"It is none of your business," he muttered. "I've helped you whenever I could, but this is not a matter that will be resolved easily."

"What should I do, then?" she asked, as she saw him walking out of his office. He stopped at the door and looked at her sadly.

"Pray that nothing else stirs conflict," he said, and walked away.

* * *

She didn't think that he wanted to talk. There was an air of sadness around him; the longing that he always seemed to express was not there anymore. Instead, his amber eyes tried to avoid her grey ones, taking refuge in his reading and writing. Irina went over his notes, time and again. She wrote comments on the margin of the pages of his manifesto, pointing out little things that escaped Justice, but that the man in Anders was neglecting as well.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that he decided to overcome his embarrassment and say something.

"Was it worth it?"

Irina looked around the kitchen and spotted Orana coming out of the kitchen quietly. The elven maid always knew when she was not supposed to be around, even though she'd never been asked to leave when the family talked about private matters. Irina turned to Anders.

"Amaranthine? Absolutely," she replied, the hint of a smile in her lips.

Anders cast a quick glance at her. It reminded her of the guilty glances that Hairbag gave them every time he broke something. "I'm glad," he muttered.

"Velanna said that you could have saved us the trip over there, since you knew what was wrong with Fenris," she said as she chopped some herbs skillfully.

Anders didn't reply immediately. His hands were busy, handling a minute spoon and getting rid of clots in the syrup that he'd prepared. Irina didn't rush him. She thought that he needed peace, and if he wanted to ask, he could always do so.

"You needed to see Carver," he said eventually. "And Fenris needed to be alone with you."

Irina left the knife on the board and wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing. "Come here," she murmured softly as she opened her arms. Anders looked at her skeptically.  _"I won't hurt you."_

He snorted. "I know you won't."

"No.  _You_  have to say it. Say you won't hurt me."

He raised his eyes and watched her. Her grey eyes were clear and honest, and there was no pity in them – only acceptance. He shook his head. "I may do so one day. And then, I will have broken my promise."

"You won't hurt me." She held him by the hand and pulled him towards her. "Wrap your arms around me. You know how to do it, so don't play coy." She smiled at him and saw the corner of his lips curling upwards. "Come on... You know you want to…"

"You temptress," he sighed, resting his chin on her head and embracing her. "Fenris is so lucky to have you. Don't you ever let him forget that."

"Oh, he knows it. And he's grateful to you, but you know him. He'll never say it."

"As long as  _you_  are happy…" he murmured. The face of the young mage he'd killed came back to him. She would have been warm, like Irina was. Full of life. A future ahead. She'd been one of his kind. Still, none of that had mattered. He hugged her tighter, and the strangest feeling took over him. It was as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and she was the only thing holding him back. He didn't like it. He couldn't depend on her forever.

"I'll always be here for you," she murmured, and he wanted to believe her.

* * *

"Stop it! That's enough!" Fenris pushed one of the elves backwards as he held the other by the arm. "Will somebody tell me what's going on? Maffeth?"

"I almost lost my job today because of him!" the younger elf replied. He passed his fingers through his red hair nervously. "I found a nice house to serve, and he came by and started shouting insults!"

"Why would you do that, Lothal?" Fenris asked.

Lothal crossed his arms over his chest. "They're just filthy shem."

"They're good people!" Maffeth exclaimed. "Just because they're not noble–!"

"Look at us!" Lothal shouted. "We live in this place and we have no purpose!"

"But… we can work! That's how we get a purpose!" Maffeth's young face blushed. The elf was not accustomed to arguing or defending himself with words. Fenris watched him with a mixture of pride and pity. The women had adapted more easily: Millia had found a place as a kitchen hand in a noble house and was living there permanently, and Tyria had chosen to live in the alienage, in Merrill's old place; she'd even found a mate the night of the  _Vir'elvhen_. Orana still went from Fenris's place to Irina's, but Fenris had the slight suspicion that the only reason why she hadn't moved there permanently was because Gamlen picked her up every morning and dropped her off every evening. Fenris was not naturally curious, but Irina was, and she'd planted in his head the idea that Orana liked Gamlen, and not precisely as a father.

"What do you intend to do, Lothal?" Fenris asked quietly. "I do not object to your living here and working around the house, but don't you want something different?"

Lothal shook his head. "I'll stay here, and wait for the Master."

Fenris felt a sudden chill going down his spine. "What did you say?"

"This house has a Master. I will wait for him." Lothal turned around and left the room. Maffeth breathed out and muttered an apology before leaving in the opposite direction. Fenris stood there, trying to get rid of Lothal's baleful words.

* * *

Sebastian shot down the last of the gang and said a prayer for the lost soul. Varric raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly. "The number of prayers I've heard you say… I think I've learned the entire Chant by now."

"It wouldn't do you harm," Sebastian smiled. The two men walked towards Aveline, who was soothing the Viscount's son, shocked at the sight of so much blood.

"There was this moment in which there were so many of them that I thought  _'Shit, I should have packed my bags, 'cause I'm sure going back to the Stone'_ ," Varric said merrily. "It's good to have you back, elf."

Fenris looked at him and grunted. He'd never settled a certain score with Sebastian and he was trying to stay away from that conflict, even though part of him was dying to let the Brother know that he'd claimed Irina as his. "We're ready to go, Aveline."

"I know, but… Saemus, are you ready?" she asked hesitantly.

The Viscount's son started to nod, but something caught his eye. The body of a dead Qunari lay there, his chest smeared with blood, mingled with the red warpaint that marked him as an Ashaad, a scout. Fenris noticed that the Viscount's son was wearing a wristband that seemed too large for him.

"Perhaps we should give him some time," he suggested to Aveline.

Saemus's turquoise-green eyes gazed at him gratefully. He knelt next to the Qunari and leaned over his body, his fingers delicately touching the Ashaad as if he were a fragile thing. Fenris couldn't make out the words; Saemus's voice was just a whisper, but it sounded so tender, so intimate, that he felt that they were intruding.

He signaled Aveline and the Captain and the others followed him. He perched atop a rock and looked out into the horizon. The coast seemed clear, but he knew that such tranquility could be treacherous. He tried to shake off the feeling, but Saemus's distress at the loss of his friend had touched him more than he'd thought.

"Why did you travel to Amaranthine?" a soft voice asked behind him. Fenris had learned to dread that accent, which spelt out nothing but trouble to him.

"To find an answer," he replied curtly.

"Did you find it?" Sebastian's piercing blue eyes were seeking for something else. He hadn't meant to ask why he'd been to Amaranthine, but why he'd taken Irina with him.

"I think I did," Fenris shrugged.

"Your spirit seems to be at peace now," Sebastian said, watching the waves crashing below. "Whatever it was, I'm glad to see it's been resolved."

"Right," Fenris scoffed.

Sebastian shook his head. "Think what you may of me, but I'm not your enemy."

"You're not my rival either," Fenris replied.

Sebastian gave him a patronizing grin. "We'll see about that."

"I'm ready to leave, messere," Saemus said to Aveline. "But there's something I must ask of you first."

"What is it, boy?" Varric asked, sheltering his eyes from the sun. One more hour in that place and he'd lose his mind.

"You must tell my father that I've died. Tell him that the Winters killed me." Saemus's face was so serious that they didn't even think that he was joking. "I'll join the Qunari at the compound. He won't come looking for me there."

Aveline looked up and sighed. "This isn't the right way, Saemus."

"Why not?" A flash of anger crossed his bright eyes. "Ashaad is dead because of him! If he hadn't placed that stupid bounty… He could never understand – no, he wouldn't hear me when I told him that he should have tried to integrate the Qunari to the city. He segregated them, and now they're…" He clenched his fists.

"They're what, Saemus?" Aveline took a few steps towards him, but the young man stepped back.

"I'll jump," he said, his voice a thread. "I swear, if you make me come back to him, I'll kill myself." To show his determination, he walked backwards, close to the edge of the cliff.

"No, no – there's no need to do that," Varric said quickly. He'd been walking towards Saemus slowly and was very close to the man now. "Look… Your father is an important man. You know that. He can't agree with you publicly. He's got a city to protect."

"Protect from what?" Saemus cried out. "The Qunari are not the monsters in Kirkwall! You saw them!" he shouted at Aveline. "You saw their bodies down there! Slaughtered, like animals, by the very same people that claim to protect us!" His eyes darted to Sebastian. "Your people! What? You didn't think I'd know, did you? I saw the reports; I heard the rumors, and I was hoping… For a moment I…" He fell on his knees again, and Aveline swiftly crossed the distance between them. She threw her arms around him, trying to contain him. Bitter tears streamed down his grimy face.

Aveline kissed his hair. "I know what it's like to lose someone that completes you." Saemus cast a quick glance at her, expecting disapproval of some sort, but Aveline just nodded. "Your soul is torn, and you feel that you'll be alone for the rest of your life. You start to wonder why you survived, if it should have been you lying there instead… I wouldn't want anyone to have that kind of pain. Do you think your father deserves that as well?"

The young man winced. "I… I guess not..."

"Then, let's go back to the city. Talk to him. You're his only son. He'll listen to you. Make your case, and people will know."

Saemus nodded slowly and sniffled. "Thank you, Captain. I'm… ready to leave, if you please."

As they watched Varric and Sebastian escorting the young man ahead, Aveline and Fenris looked at each other. "You know what I am about to say, don't you?" he asked gravelly.

"This adds to the conflict," Aveline sighed, feeling short of breath.

"Talk to the Viscount. Appeal to his diplomacy. And get your guard ready, Aveline," he said. "There's a storm coming."

* * *

Merrill hadn't asked Irina why she had wanted to switch her large bedroom for the smaller one that overlooked the garden, but she understood that the Irina that had left for Amaranthine had not returned, and the one that had come back was a quieter one, who liked to spend her hours with Anders in the clinic and the study room, and whole afternoons with Fenris. She was happy to see them together, his back resting against the old willow as Irina rested her back against his chest; reading together, sometimes having long talks in hushed voices. A few times she'd overheard them when she'd been close to them to pick up Inan, who liked to crawl over to where her aunt and her lover were. Secretly, she envied them, and seeing them together reminded her of how lonely she felt. She considered asking them to accompany her to visit her clan, but there was a high chance that they had moved already, and she feared that the road trip would be too much for the child.

"I'm off to sleep," Irina said, as she kissed her sister on the forehead. They'd been darning socks and sewing clothes for the children in Darktown.

"Have a very good night, dear," Merrill said in a singsong voice. Irina gave her an odd look, but Merrill just shrugged and smiled.

"I will," Irina muttered, as she walked to the back of the estate and into her bedroom. She locked the door behind her and looked around. She drew the curtains and the moonlight bathed the room. She brushed her hair and pinched her cheeks, and waited.

There was always this fear within her that one day he wouldn't come. She couldn't say why, because nothing in his demeanor said that he'd stay away, not anymore. And yet, why did she feel that he might leave her?

She heard the dog bark once – he knew that the figure coming up was no foe, so he quickly went back to sleep. She looked out of the window and saw someone approach slowly. "Tease," she muttered, a dreamy smile appearing in her face. She opened the window, letting the cool air in, and beckoned. He took his time as he climbed the steps of the veranda and sauntered towards her room.

Fenris closed the window behind him and took off his cloak, which he dropped on the settee next to them. "Still clothed?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I thought you liked removing my clothes," she said quietly.

"That I do, yes," he said, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her slowly, feeling her lips as if it was the first time. His fingers found the laces of her bodice and started undoing it slowly. He smiled when he felt her fingers helping him almost impatiently. "How much longer do you think I'll have to come through the window to see you?"

She smirked as she kissed his neck. "You like your privacy, serah."

"True," he sighed as he felt her teeth on his skin. "But I think we're ready to let them know." He caught her by the chin and looked into her eyes. "If you'll still have me, that is."

Her only answer was to take him by the hand and lead him to the bed.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Isabela asked as soon as he entered his room.

Fenris's eyes squinted. "Why do you ask?"

"I've been waiting for you for hours. Helped myself," she said, raising a bottle. "I hope you don't mind. So…?"

"What do you need, Isabela?" he yawned. He was tired and upset. Her being there usually meant that she needed something, and since she'd helped him with a tax collector –though he hadn't really asked, but every little help counted– he knew that this was no social visit.

Isabela smirked. "I know that exhaustion. You've been naughty, haven't you?" When Fenris didn't reply, she laughed. " _O, sweet exhaustion!_  I haven't felt that for a while now. If I didn't know how devoted you are to the girl, I'd ask you to give me a hand with that."

"I think you've had many hands there already," Fenris grunted. "What is it?"

Isabela crossed her legs and rested her back on the chair. "I've got a lead. A good one this time."

"You said the same before. What makes it good this time?"

"Straight from the horse's mouth. Well, one of the horses. There's an Orlesian representative in town. A wealthy man, in his sixties, with a penchant for male prostitutes. I stole from him. From his house, rather. I happened to overhear a conversation with one of his unsavory contacts. The woman mentioned that they'd found someone who claimed to have stolen a relic from a thief."

"My head's starting to hurt," Fenris groaned.

"I'm the thief, dummy! It's the relic they took from me!"

"Well, you know what they say about stealing from thieves… So what relic is this?" Fenris asked. "You never said."

Isabela shrugged. "Eh, I never knew. I thought the box had pretty colors, and that was it. Now, pay attention, because I'm sure you'll be interested in the next part. It seems that the Orlesians are a bit concerned about finding out the whereabouts of this second thief before the Tevinters do." She saw him perk up. "Aha! I knew that you'd find that bit interesting! There appears to be a Tevinter magister in the area, and the plot thickens!"

Fenris grabbed her by the wrist impatiently. "Do not toy with me! What's the name?"

"Relax," she said, slapping his hand so that he'd release her. "The name's not Danarius; that much I know. But I thought that perhaps you'd want to come with me, next time they meet to discuss progress."

"When will that be?"

"The contact is supposed to report in ten days," she replied. "I've got the location. All you have to do is come with me. I can only ask Varric to accompany us. Don't tell Aveline or Sebastian. One of them would probably lock me up and the other would spank me. Sadly, I think Aveline would spank me," she sighed. "I'll just have to keep pining for Sebastian. Such a shame, with that colorful past…" As she opened the door, she found one of the elves outside. "Fenris! You didn't tell me you had such attractive companions!"

Lothal blushed and ran away. Isabela snorted. "Bah. I thought you elves were more open-minded. I guess it was just one elf that was kinky." She shrugged and waved goodbye.

* * *

"You can't play a lute to save your life," Irina laughed. "And then you wonder why the cats are nowhere to be found around your clinic."

"Cats can be pretty dissonant as well," Anders said. "I actually thought I could attract a few with those  _nyan nyan nyan_  notes, but perhaps the locals ate them." He shrugged. "Hairbag's not bad. He's no guard dog. In spite of his size, he spends most of the day curled up and snoozing." He looked at her. "Have you been sleeping well? You look a bit tired."

"Hm? Yes, I've been sleeping well. I'm not feeling great during the day, but the nights give me no trouble," she smiled.

Anders snorted. "Oh, don't count your sovereigns in front of the poor, darling. When will you two announce it?"

"Announce what?" she asked innocently.

"It is a little ridiculous to hide it at this point. You're a woman now. And the man who made that happen obviously cares for you, so…"

Irina shuddered and frowned. "It's a bit chilly in here, isn't it? I'll ask Bodahn for some more lumber."

"I'm fine; I think it's just you." Anders pressed his lips to her forehead. "No temperature. Maybe you need a tonic. What do you say? One of the old macerated centipede ones?"

"Maker, do not even mention that," Irina said, fighting back the nausea. "I still remember your boxes filled with those creepers, and the way you removed their legs and crushed them… So slimy…"

"If you put it that way…" Anders grimaced. "I'll get the embrium spirits that I prepared last winter."

"Please," Irina chuckled as she watched him run for the beverage. He returned with two small glasses and, as he poured the blood-red liquid, he cast a quick glance at her and smiled. "What? Is there something on my face?" she said, rubbing her nose self-consciously.

"No, I was just remembering when we first met. Or rather, the first weeks we spent together." He handed her one of the glasses and sat down next to her. "I didn't know what to think of you. I must admit it took me a while to get used to your presence. In the Circle, you learn to trust only a few. And even those can let you down. But you… I don't know."

"You're like a brother to me, Anders," she said, patting him on the arm. He gave her a half-smile.

"Would you believe that there was a time in which I thought that we…?"

"Please don't say it," she shook her head. "I love you, but not in that way."

"Good, because I can't see you any other way now."

" _Now,_  he says," Irina chuckled.

"What? You can't say I'm not honest." He raised his glass. "To good friends."

"To  _best_  friends," she replied with a smile.

* * *

"This way," Isabela instructed her two companions. Fenris was always surprised by Varric's suppleness, and he felt that skulking with a broadsword was inadequate. His bare feet, however, gave him a better grip, and soon he was moving just as stealthily as the other two.

"What's the plan, Rivaini?"

"We wait till the exchange of information takes place. If we're lucky, they'll bring the relic. If we're not, we'll just have to beat them to the place."

"It doesn't sound like a brilliant plan," Fenris muttered.

"It's the best I could come up with. I'm open to suggestions," she winked.

Fenris rolled his eyes. "I guess we'll see as we go, then." However, the further they went into the warehouse, the narrower the passage became. Fenris got stuck behind Varric at a point, and Isabela had to continue on her own. "Will she be alright?" he asked his companion.

"Her instinct of self-preservation challenges yours," Varric sneered. "I'd tell you to be ready, just in case, but I'm not sure how we're going to help her from here."

"Perhaps we should go back and I can get ahead? I'm thinner than you…"

"Go on, rub it in, elf. It's the dwarven build. Just because you're a lucky bastard–" He was interrupted by some screaming below. "What was that?"

"I think the trouble's just begun," Fenris said, turning around and crawling back. Through some cracks in the wood panels to the side, he caught a glimpse of a Saarebas. "No… It can't be… Qunari."

"Here? Why?"

"Who cares now? Isabela won't make it if she gets caught!"

When they finally found the way out, they bumped into the pirate, who was already on the run. "Hurry up!" she shouted. "We need to leave this place!"

"What happened?" Varric shouted as they ran.

"I'll explain later!"

"I  _knew_  I should have picked Aveline's job tonight!" Varric groaned.

Fenris silently cursed himself for having forgotten about Aveline's request. As he was running after the pirate, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure entering the warehouse, followed by a group of hooded people. He stopped abruptly. Was that… Lothal?

Varric pushed him from behind. "Come on!" the dwarf shouted, and Fenris followed him.

* * *

"No…" Aveline sank to her knees and embraced Saemus's body. "Not him…"

Sebastian looked at the Mother in horror. "How could you? This man… He was innocent!"

"He was a heretic!" Mother Petrice shouted. "The ones closest to our leaders – you, the Captain, the Viscount's son! Converts! You have abandoned our Lady and the Maker!"

"Are you daft, woman?" Sebastian's voice trembled with indignation. "How dare you smear the Holy Names with your filthy actions! I should have told the Grand Cleric what you were up to, and the Maker will forgive me for my weakness, but this will not be ignored!"

"Say what you will, Brother!" Petrice's voice was filled with venom. "But this city will be purged by the Hand of the Divine! When she hears about this… Yes – the Chantry will recover from its losses, and once more–!" She gasped as she felt the sting of a poisoned arrow. Sebastian looked around and saw an Ashaad – so similar to the one that had been murdered that for a moment, he thought that the ghost of the other had returned to avenge his friend.

The Ashaad struck the Mother again, making sure that she was beyond aid, and then turned to Aveline and Sebastian. "We do not abandon those of the Qun. Their loss will be felt, and you will know it in the flesh," he said as he disappeared in the shadows.

"Maker help us all," Aveline murmured.

* * *

Isabela had used the distraction to turn the tables in her favor, and had managed to find the one who had the relic. She'd refused time and again to say why the Qunari had shown up at the previous location, and that had led to an argument with Varric, who had walked away, furious with the pirate. She'd told Fenris that he could leave as well, but he'd shaken his head and reminded her that, considering all the parties involved in the search, she had next to no chances to come out of it alive if she was left on her own.

"You're such an optimist," Isabela had said, and he'd just shrugged.

The man hadn't expected her to show up, so he'd let down his guard, and she'd taken advantage of it. She'd made a comment as to how a good body could get someone places, but Fenris didn't feel like listening to anything anymore. They'd been up all night, and he was more than glad to see that everything would soon be over.

However, once they reached the docks, they could feel the growing disquiet and the troubled voices. Isabela looked edgier than ever, and Fenris decided to just follow and not ask any more questions. Castillon was waiting for her, and when she gave him the package, the man smiled.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Thank you, my dear."

"Are we good, then?"

"Oh, we are more than fine. Just in time, from what it seems. Who's this?" he asked, pointing to Fenris.

"He's a friend," Isabela replied. "Not for sale."

"Are you sure?" Castillon said, looking at Fenris appreciatively.

Fenris held his sword in his hand and seemed to weigh it. "I'd say we're pretty sure, yeah."

"I've got a potential buyer. A Tevinter magister," Castillon said to Isabela, not intimidated in the least. "What do you say?"

Isabela looked at Fenris. "Who's the buyer?"

"Have I piqued your interest, then?" the man smirked at Fenris. "You see, elf. Everything can be bought or sold if you're willing to name a price. They'll be here soon, my dear," he said to Isabela, "so you may want to make up your mind while you can still get something out of it."

She looked behind them and saw Castillon's ship, anchored in the distance. It seemed to be beckoning. But betraying Fenris… He'd stood with her till the very end. He deserved better. She felt Fenris moving closer to her, and his voice in her ear.

"This man is begging for you to take his ship," her friend smirked. She watched him silently, a smile dancing in her eyes.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked quietly.

"I don't see why not," he replied.

"And here they are," Castillon announced, as the group of hooded people that Fenris had seen the night before entered the landing. "My friends! I think we're ready to begin our transaction."

"That elf seems familiar…" Isabela muttered to Fenris. She didn't have to say it twice. Lothal was following the group, and Fenris saw his finger pointing towards him and saying something to one of the figures.

 _"_ _Venhedis!"_  Fenris spat. "I knew it was you!"

"Silence, Runaway," one of the people said. "Unlike you, this slave knows his place."

"You sold me out!" Fenris shouted as he saw the others coming down the steps. "What did they offer you?"

Lothal looked back at the magister and then down at Fenris. "A purpose," he replied.

"And he shall have one," the magister smiled, as she stood behind the elf. In a swift movement, she cut his throat. Dark-red blood poured from the elf's body, and Fenris saw the magister's hands beginning to control it.

"We have to go!" he screamed at Isabela, whose eyes were fixed on the other side of the room. Fenris followed her look and saw a group of Qunari, their weapons already drawn.

"There's the thief!" one of them screamed. An Arvaarad was leading the party, and was pointing to Castillon. "And there's the Tome! Nehraa Koslun! Ataash Qunari!" His war cry clashed with the screech of the demon summoned by the magister.

"Take the Tome!" she yelled. "Don't let the beasts get to it!"

Isabela gave Fenris's arm a yank. "Let's leave, now!" As they ran to the docked boats, they heard Castillon screaming. Some of the crew ran after Isabela and Fenris, and some stayed behind to defend their captain. Isabela stood on the main boat and shouted to the remaining crew, "Listen! That vessel has been seized! Those of you who wish to die can leave now – otherwise it'll be all hands on deck, because we're getting out of here!"

"I can't leave!" Fenris shouted as the boat kept carrying him away. "I have to go back for Irina!"

"You can't go back now!" Isabela shouted back. "They'll kill you if you return! Let's wait till this conflict had passed!"

"What conflict are you talking about?" Fenris asked, finally giving in to his curiosity.

Isabela looked at him and shook her head. "I promise I'll tell you about it once we're safe!"

* * *

"Firm ground beneath our feet, at last!" Sigrun sighed as they disembarked in Kirkwall. "One more day sailing those waters and I would have puked my insides out of my mouth… Who the heck ordered me to come here with you?"

"Your Commander, as far as I remember," Stroud chuckled. "That's what happens when a Fereldan –and a northern one, for that matter– calls the shots."

"You shouldn't complain, though," Carver smiled, tousling Sigrun's hair unceremoniously. "You always get assigned to the important missions." He looked around. People seemed to be bustling about as usual, but there was also a heavy stillness in the air that felt ominous. "We could spend the night at my family's–" Carver began to say, but his words were drowned by the battle cry of a hundred voices coming from the compound.

...


	15. Deal

Merrill knocked on Irina's door and waited. It was early afternoon and her sister was still in bed. She knew that Fenris sometimes visited her at night, but she hadn't mentioned it to her. If Irina wasn't ready to say anything, then Merrill would have to watch her mouth so as not to embarrass her in front of her friends.

"Irya?" she called softly. There was no reply. She tried the doorknob – the door wasn't locked. Timidly, she opened it and poked her head in the room. The curtains hadn't been drawn back yet, and Merrill made out the figure of her sister still lying in bed. "Is something the matter?"

"I feel a little queasy. I think I've caught something," Irina replied softly. "Either that, or Anders's embrium liquor wasn't as good as he said it would be. Perhaps he should stick to potions." She sat up slowly, testing the reactions of her body to the movement. "But I think I'm better now."

"Sooo…" Merrill sat down next to her and gazed at her with doe-like eyes. "Did _he_  come over last night? And by 'he', I mean Fenris."

Irina blushed. "How do you-? Dear Maker! Have we really been so indiscreet?"

"Oh no! It's just that I heard you two some days ago. Neither of you is exactly what I'd call 'quiet'," she said, coughing nervously. She saw the young woman get out of the bed quickly and cover her mouth. "I only heard you once, I swear! And Gamlen hasn't said anything so far, and neither has Bodahn, so there's no need to worry."

Irina shook her head. "No, he wasn't here last night. The last time he was here, he told me that we should tell everyone about us!" she groaned. "I should have listened to him…"

"Well, you can do that tonight! What do you say? Oh, I  _know!"_  Merrill clapped excitedly. "Let's throw a party! A small one – Varric, Isabela, Aveline, and Anders! We could tell Sebastian, of course, but something tells me that he won't be thrilled… And Gamlen and Orana! We could ask Bodahn to get some of that Orlesian fruit that's so popular these days… Tomorrow! What do you say? Yes?"

"I think that I should ask Fenris first," Irina smiled. "He's not the 'crowd' type, you know. I think he wanted to talk to Gamlen only, though…"

"Why would he want Gamlen if he's not – Oh!" Merrill stood up and ran to Irina's side. "Is he planning to do what I think he's planning to do?"

Irina bit her lower lip and smiled shyly. "I'm not sure. The last time he left, he told me that he wanted us to be able to be on our own, and sleep and wake up together without feeling guilty. I doubt he'll ask Gamlen for permission to sleep here only." She was beaming now. "He left something behind as well. He made me promise that I wouldn't peek, though. Not until he'd spoken to Gamlen."

"What is it?" The excitement in Merrill's voice was contagious, and Irina laughed.

"I have no idea! I truly wanted to keep my promise!"

"Oh,  _go on_  – just a little peek! He'll never know!" Merrill pleaded. Irina didn't really need more encouragement. She rushed to the little lockbox where she'd kept the leather pouch and gave it to the elf.

" _You_  take a look… But don't tell me!" Irina said, covering her eyes.

She heard Merrill cooing as she opened the little package. "It's… a chain," the elven woman said, sounding disappointed.

"Oh?" Irina blinked, looking as well. "What kind?"

"It looks like silver," Merrill said, fishing for it with her delicate fingers. As she took it out, they saw the ring attached to it. Two light silver bands, joined together in a twirl by a sparkling little sapphire. "Elgar'nan!" Merrill exclaimed. "It's a promise ring!"

"Do you really think so?" Irina asked, nervously. "It could… It could be just a ring. Any ring."

"If it's just 'any' ring, why didn't he give it to you before?"

"Because… It would be improper, wouldn't it?"

"You've been sleeping together..." Merrill pondered. "Wouldn't that also qualify as improper?"

Irina's face went red. She looked down at the pouch. It was stamped with the Amaranthine heraldry. He'd probably bought it when they'd been to the market. So that meant that even before they'd been together, he had made his decision…

As her fingers carefully undid the clasp, she thought about the time they'd spent together. They've known each other for three years: they'd seen each other at their best and worst, they'd talked and listened, and they'd learned so much from one another that Irina could no longer think of her life before him. The ring slid off the chain, onto her palm. How cold he'd seemed when they'd first met – standing alone in the moonlight, his bright eyes filled with suspicion and derisiveness for her kind. And still, he'd accepted her the way she was. He had every reason to hate what she was, and yet, he'd chosen to give her a chance.

She slipped the ring on her finger and smiled. She understood now the special attention he'd paid to her hands whenever they were together. The silver seemed to swirl around the sapphire, and she couldn't help but think of him. It had taken him so long to understand that she didn't mind his having been a slave, or his being an elf… Irina chuckled. Whatever he'd been, there was only one thing he was for her now.

He was the one.

* * *

"I'll shut the door after you – now  _get in there!"_  Sigrun roared as she pushed the last of the dockworkers inside the warehouse. "Carver!" she called her companion, who rushed to her side and helped her push the crates, concealing the door. "That was the last of them. Now you and that belching brute are free to hack and slash knowing that none of those fools will get in the way."

"How considerate of you, sister!" Carver replied mockingly. "Where will you be when we deal with the Qunari, then?"

Sigrun smiled. "I'll be waiting in the shadows. So send them my way, and I'll finish them. Oghren!" Her voice was bold and clear. Carver had the impression that she had never been afraid of anything. He hadn't known her for long, and she didn't talk to the others much, with the exception of Nathaniel and Velanna. Unlike the others, she received her orders straight from the Warden-Commander, who summoned her to Denerim, or through the Seneschal of Vigil's Keep. She had an impressive number of missions under her belt, even more than the Lieutenant-Commander, and Carver wondered why she wasn't the second in command.

He looked at the Wardens that were now ready to strike whatever came their way. Oghren was swinging his battle axe effortlessly; he, Stroud, and Carver were the vanguard of their squad. Without mages, they had to rely on their archers. From the corner of his eye, Carver saw Sigrun disappear, and Stroud gave the signal to advance. They got to the main passage without major incidents, but the scouts hadn't prepared them for the carnage that had taken place while they were busy saving the workers.

The heads of a dozen guards had been severed from the bodies and impaled on pikes. Judging by the state of the bodies, they'd probably been dead long before they'd been decapitated. The image of a tortured Aveline haunted Carver, and he parted from his group recklessly. He could hear Oghren's husky voice calling after him, but he had to keep looking for his red-haired friend, even though he dreaded the thought of finding her amidst the corpses.

"What are ye lookin' for, Princess?" Oghren shouted behind him.

"My friend, the Captain of the Guard," Carver replied hurriedly, dismissing the dwarf's snide epithet.

"Look for fancy armor, lads!" the dwarven warrior commanded. In spite of Stroud's protests, the Wardens searched around the now deserted compound.

"We'll keep an eye on the passageway," Sigrun announced. "Come on, Stroud."

 _She can't have abandoned them,_  Carver thought. He was convinced that Aveline would never abandon her guards. Duty always came first for her, and no-one got left behind. Her absence there could mean two things: either she had retreated as soon as the guards had been slaughtered, or she was being held captive by the Qunari. Neither thought soothed Carver's troubled mind, which was now focusing on one thing only: his family in Hightown.

"Regroup! We have to go!" he shouted. "We need to get to Hightown as quickly as possible!"

"What's the fastest way?" Sigrun asked.

"I know a shortcut at the end of the docks," Carver replied, remembering his mercenary days. "Let's hope that it's still accessible."

* * *

The sea was calm that day. Fenris didn't have much experience aboard pirate vessels, but having crossed the Waking Sea in a smaller ship, he thought that nothing could be rougher. Isabela was in command, and she finally seemed to be relaxing. Her hands were resting on the helm loosely, and Fenris guessed that she was trying to get the crew accustomed to her presence there.

"The position of Captain suits you," he said, sheltering his eyes from the dying sun. The light was just as intense then as it had been at noon.

"There are many positions that suit me," she replied cheekily, and laughed when she saw his lips curl in disapproval. "Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud. I swear, I thought elves were more fun."

"I really don't know what kind of elves you've been frequenting," he replied, "but I don't think there's such a thing as 'elven character'. You humans are all different, or so you say."

"True. Some of us are more adventurous than others. Some of us just hide it better. Like your little thing, for instance." She smiled. "Come on, tell us: what exactly has been going on with Irina?"

"Was that the Tome of Koslun?" Fenris shot nonchalantly, catching her off-guard. He'd heard the words of the Arvaarad, and he'd recognized the name of the founder of the Qun. He expected her to deny it outright, but Isabela's only reply was to look ahead and remain silent for a while. When she spoke again, he almost felt sorry for her.

"I've done many stupid things in my life, Fenris. But I've never regretted them. My mistakes make me who I am. This time…" She heaved a deep sigh. "I have the feeling that this time, I'm going to regret this."

* * *

"What is it, Bodahn?" Irina asked as she was about to get down to the basement. She was wearing the simple clothes she wore to the clinic, and with her hair up in a ponytail, she looked young and fresh. The dwarven merchant had rushed into the kitchen and was so out of breath that she changed her mind. "Are you alright?" She looked around. "Did something happen to Sandal?"

"My boy is fine – he's locking the front door… Mistress… The Qunari… Can't you hear the screaming?" he asked, his light-blue eyes showing a fear that Irina had never seen before.

"What are you talking a–?" Before she could finish, she heard Gamlen calling her. She ran to the hall and found her uncle dragging Orana towards the kitchen. "What are you doing?" she asked, astounded.

"This stubborn little thing won't be reasonable!" Gamlen shouted. "The oxmen have finally decided to make a move, and they'll be coming for us – starting with you, women and children! And  _she,"_ he grunted, "refuses to hide in the basement with Inan and Merrill and you!"

"And what chances do  _you_  have to survive?" Orana asked boldly. "The mistresses could defend themselves if it was necessary, but  _you_  cannot!"

Irina raised her eyebrows in surprise. She'd felt that Orana's feelings for Gamlen had been growing for some time, but the elven maiden had never been so openly confrontational. Gamlen, however, didn't seem to notice.

" _I_  am an old man!" he scoffed. "Perhaps my time has come. But you're too young. All of you…" he said, looking at his niece. "My dear…"

"Orana's right," Merrill said behind her. "We can defend ourselves." She was holding Inan in her arms. The toddler was looking at her mother seriously, as if she could understand that the elf was not joking. Merrill walked down the steps to the hall and gave Inan to Orana. "Please…" she murmured with touching simplicity, knowing that the other elf would not refuse her petition.

Inan clung to Orana and looked at her mother sadly. Merrill murmured a few elvish words in her ear and kissed her on the cheek. Irina felt dizzy – having gone from a quiet afternoon to an attack in such a short time was overwhelming. She looked at the family she had left.

"Gamlen," she called. "Take Bodahn and Sandal to safety too, and stay with them."

"Don't you even think about it," her uncle hissed, grabbing her by the arm.

"I'm not asking you," Irina replied softly. She could see the fear in Gamlen's eyes. She knew that he was thinking about Leandra.

"Irya… You're all the family I have left," he whispered, his grey eyes glistening.

"Nothing will happen, Uncle," she reassured him. "But… Better safe than sorry, right? Anders will be down there, and–" She was interrupted by the commotion in the kitchen. Anders dashed into the hall, having entered through the getaway passage from the clinic, followed by Bodahn and Sandal.

"Thank the Maker you're fine!" he said, squeezing Irina briefly. "You can't imagine the turmoil in Darktown. They're saying the Qunari have finally decided to strike! Have you seen Aveline?"

Irina's mind flew to the Captain and the companions who had been involved in brokering a deal with the Qunari.  _Fenris._  Her head started spinning and she had to hold onto Anders's coat so as not to fall. "If this is happening, yes… Then things have gone wrong… Anders, I need to find him." Her eyes searched her friend's face, looking for some solution to a problem that she still hadn't faced.

Anders looked at the rest of the people in the house. He passed his fingers through his hair. "We could leave them in a room and hide the door behind an illusion."

"Vines!" Merrill exclaimed as she ran out of the room. "I'll cover the back of the house, just in case!"

"The basement, then," Irina nodded. "There's food, and we can leave them with a fire illusion spell, so that they can breathe while they're down there, but they won't be in the dark." She looked at Gamlen. "Please, Uncle. You can chastise me when this is over."

"I'll skin you alive if you let something happen to her," Gamlen warned Anders.

"If that happened, I'd do it myself," the mage replied.

* * *

"What kinda dwarf are ya?" Oghren asked Varric as he wiped his battle axe on the clothes of a dead elf.

"The loquacious kind when there are no oxmen trying to kill me," Varric replied, shuddering at the sight of the effects of the blade.

"Where's yer beard? And what's with the open shirt? Want us to paint a bullseye there, so that the beasties know where to strike?" Oghren snorted and walked ahead.

Varric looked at Carver and rolled his eyes. "If this is the best the Wardens have…"

"Come on, Varric, don't be such an elitist. You've seen him fighting. You know he's good." Carver said, climbing the steps of the passageway to Hightown. "What's the matter? Working with Aveline and Sebastian made you forget how messy things were when he did our jobs?"

Varric grinned. "Oh, Big Boy, how I've missed you! Aveline is a darling, but her moral code could do with some retouching, and Sebastian… Did you really want him to marry Irina?"

"I haven't discarded it yet," Carver replied.

"Maybe not you, but I think you should know that your sister–"

"Quiet, you two!" Sigrun hissed. "Man, we should have left the chatterbox in the hidey-hole where we found him!" The men approached her and saw a squad of Qunari dragging some people away.

"At least they're not killing them," Carver muttered. "But where are they being taken?"

"Hightown? Either the Chantry or the Viscount's," Varric said, looking at his friend. He was aware that Sigrun was watching him again and he smiled at her roguishly, making her  _tsk-tsk_.

"If we move now, we can have greater leeway, at least until they see us," Stroud informed them. "Perhaps we could make it to your family home without being detected."

"Eh, ya know I hate to be the messenger," Oghren said, peeking out, "but there's a leashed beastie comin' this way…"

"Leashed how?" Carver asked, approaching the dwarven warrior.

"Chained, more like," Oghren replied. "But his eyes are covered, so he may not–"

The two Wardens received the full impact of an aggressive spell cast by a Saarebas. Oghren screamed and brandished his axe blindly – the venomous sting of the spirit blast had hit him in the eyes, and he was a danger to himself as well as to the others. Carver muttered a curse word and closed his eyes. A wave of energy that felt like a strong wind surrounded Oghren, calming him down.

Varric gaped at Carver. "How did you do that?"

"Templar training that we vanguards receive," Carver confessed. "Whether we agree with their ideals or not, there's no denying that sometimes their 'talents' are more than useful. And yes, you don't need to say it: my family wouldn't be proud, so I'd prefer it if you could keep it to yourself for the moment." He turned to Stroud and another Warden. "It's our turn to lead. Stay sharp."

As they came out of their hiding place, they found that the Saarebas was merely waiting. He'd been left behind to deter others from following the rest of the Qunari force. Carver came out first, followed by Stroud and a borderline-berserk Oghren. They were halfway down the market area when the Saarebas turned to them and raised his hands. Carver felt the tingling of the beginning of a lightning storm. "Varric!" he shouted, as the dwarf shot a series of silverite bolts, briefly distracting the Qunari.

Stroud shouted as he purged the area, and Carver and Oghren charged against the chained mage, who quickly regained control of himself. He silently summoned a protective shield that deflected the warriors' attack. Carver noticed that his hands seemed to be controlling the energy of the dome, and he was slowly but steadily pushing it in their direction. It was Carver's turn to purge the area, and he was surprised to see that the enemy's spell was interrupted. The Qunari was thrown off balance by an unknown force, and when Carver turned around, he saw the figure of a woman standing alone. The knights around her rushed to finish the mage, but she didn't move.

Carver and the others walked up to her. Her attractive face was framed by golden wavy hair. Her head was adorned by a diadem that reminded Carver of the statues of Andraste that he'd seen in the Kirkwall Chantry and in Vigil's Keep. Her blue eyes rivaled Carver's in intensity, and her ornate armor was so impressive that he knelt before her.

"The Knight-Commander, I presume?" he said.

"Arise, Ser Warden; I'm no nobility. Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard." She gave the newcomers a quick, calculating look and then smiled. "A full squad. Well,  _almost;_  I see no mages in your ranks this time. I'd ask you what you're doing in this city, but I'm afraid there are more pressing matters at the moment. Who is the Captain of this party?"

"That would be me," Sigrun said firmly.

Meredith stared at the dwarven woman. "That is a surprise. Do all these men respond to you?"

Sigrun hesitated briefly, since Varric was in the group as well. "Yes," she answered.

"Very well. Follow me, and I will give you the details. We shall regroup, in case we encounter more of these… abominations," she said, looking at the now beheaded body of the Saarebas. "Knight-Captain!" she called.

Cullen trotted towards her. "Yes, Knight-Commander?"

"Send four of your best men my way. You will lead the secondary squad, and you'll have to decide which of them will constitute the rearguard. Find the choking points and push them towards those. They'll probably try to get to the docks; send them there so that they have no chance to escape."

"With all due respect, Knight-Commander…" Carver said, drawing her attention. "If they surrender, wouldn't it be better to avoid an unnecessary bloodbath? You might want to reconsider your stance on the rearguard."

Meredith's deep-blue eyes stared at Carver. She smiled. "Do you really think that they will surrender peacefully?"

Carver swallowed hard. Why was he so nervous? "They do not have a history of being unreasonable, do they? Conquerors, yes. But Kirkwall is not the type of territory they'd attack with that purpose in mind. They've been here for such a long time… Wouldn't it be better to find out what it is that they want?"

Cullen cleared his throat. "I'll get a token force ready for you, Knight-Commander. Do not worry about my squad or the rest of the men. I shall consider the best strategy and make a decision."

Meredith nodded. "I trust you will, Knight-Captain." She looked at Sigrun. "Choose three of yours, and leave the rest with my men."

Sigrun nodded. "Carver, Stroud… Varric. The rest of you, follow the Captain."

"Are ya daft, woman?" Oghren grunted. "Do ya really think I'll just–?"

"You'll do as I say, or I swear the Commander will hear about this," Sigrun hissed. Oghren muttered something and led the other Wardens. Sigrun watched him go, wondering if she'd done the right thing.

"I can't believe I made the cut," Varric purred jovially.

"Carver trusts you," she muttered as she walked past him. "Don't make me regret it."

* * *

"They're hacking through the door!" Merrill shouted. Irina rushed to her side and Anders was still finishing casting the glyphs and hexes in the kitchen, in case they had to leave the house temporarily.

"Be ready," Irina murmured, gripping her staff firmly. As soon as the door came down and the first Qunari stepped inside, Irina turned him into brittle. The others, seeing that he was blocking the path, hacked him to pieces to get in. Irina's eyes opened wide and muttered a hex, making some of them scream in pain as their skin covered in blisters.

Merrill's elven spell seemed to bring the plants outside to life, defending the entrance with impossible thorns and roots that hindered the Qunari. As they retreated, Irina felt relieved, but then she smelled it: they were burning down the plants. "This is going to be gruesome," Merrill murmured, standing beside her sister.

"I'm with you," Irina replied. The magic now flowed within like water, and she silently thanked Fenris for freeing her from the pain that it had always caused her. She noticed someone moving behind her and saw Anders, watching the scene.

"There's something I can do… But the last time I did it, it didn't turn out the way I wanted. Do you think you can cast a blizzard, in case I fail to quench the flames?" he asked his student, who nodded. "Very well… Brace yourselves, then." Anders closed his eyes and focused on the area near the door. The two women saw big blotches of something that resembled oil coming out of the ground.

"This is madness!" Merrill cried. "If we can't stop it–!"

"I trust her," Anders murmured, trying to focus on the right places.

The fire licked the oil, and the entrance was set ablaze with the kind of flames that were impossible to cross for anyone who wished to remain alive. They heard the Qunari retreating once more.

"Is it over?" Merrill asked, taking a few steps forward.

A spear went through the fire right towards her. She screamed, but she was untouched. She looked back and saw Irina channeling some kind of blue energy that was slowly expanding, protecting the three mages.

Anders was gaping at her. "A Fade shield? When did you learn that? The only one that I've seen casting something like that is…" His face hardened. "Well, at least he taught you something useful."

"The Seneschal's not bad if you get to know him," Irina replied, smiling confidently.

"This spell is not right for you!" Anders retorted jealously. "It might use up all your mana!"

"I am fine, Anders," she said. "Never been better."

Another commotion outside caught their attention. Someone appeared to have drawn the attention of the Qunari. As Irina sustained the spell, they waited for what seemed to be an eternity. And then they heard him.

"Merrill! Irina!" Carver shouted.

Merrill turned to the others in disbelief. "Carver?" she called loudly.

"Merrill!" his voice sounded relieved. "Is Irya alright?"

"Yes! Yes, we're fine! Anders!" She turned to the mage, who closed his eyes and started to cast a blizzard.

On the other side of the door, Meredith cocked her head. The air… It felt unusually cold and disturbed. "Mages in the Amell Estate; of course…" she whispered. "Ser Warden?" she called Carver. "Do you know the people living here?"

"They're my family," Carver replied impatiently. Once the fire was put out, Meredith stormed in first. Her first sight was that of Irina holding the shield. Carver ran past her and held Merrill in his arms, as Irina sighed in relief and dispelled the shield. Anders patted him on the back. His amber eyes, however, were watching Meredith, whose eyes were still following Irina. He was about to say something when he noticed the dwarven woman that had just walked in.

"Sigrun!" he exclaimed, evidently pleased.

"Nice to see you two!" the dwarf punned.

Anders gave her a deadpan look. "How long had you been waiting to say that?"

"Years!" she replied. "You left when I was away, and you never–" she slapped him, "even–" she punched his arm, "bothered to say goodbye!" She gave him one last blow to the chest and sighed deeply. "Ah, that feels better. Good to see you too, Anders," she grinned, making Anders smile.

"If I may interrupt," Meredith said, arching an eyebrow, "we must move on, before they send more of them. Warden Amell–"

"My uncle is Amell. I'm Hawke," Carver said to her, still holding onto Merrill's hand. "And I agree. We must go." He cupped Merrill's face tenderly and kissed her. "Promise me you'll take care. Whatever you guys did… It was pretty effective."

"Oh, I won't have to promise you," she replied merrily. "We're coming with you."

Carver shook his head. "This is no game."

"And I am no child," Merrill retorted. "I can defend myself, and so can Irya. We've been practicing defensive spells. You'd be proud of Irina; she's become so strong now! At the very least, we can cover your back. We could leave Anders behind–"

"Anders is coming with us," Sigrun said. "Right, Warden?"

The mage looked at the dwarf and saw realization in her eyes: they were talking about magic in front of a Templar. His position as a Warden meant that he could remain outside the Circle, but the same couldn't be said about the two women.

"Right," he replied. "Merrill, perhaps you two should stay…"

 _"_ _Halam sahlin!"_  Merrill shouted, frustrated. "No! This is our home! My child lives here!" She gazed at Carver. " _Ma vhenan,_  please… You understand, don't you; you're a defender of people." She turned to the others. "Besides, what have you been teaching her for, Anders? Give her the chance; she's ready!"

"They should all come," Meredith interceded. "Why, I was just saying that this was what your squad was missing, wasn't I?" She waved at one of the Templars that Cullen had sent along. "Are we ready to move?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's clear now." The young man had removed the helmet and his face looked familiar. His blond hair was darker than Meredith's, and behind his goatee, Irina recognized the face of Macha's brother. She had to bite her tongue to avoid calling him by his name, and she hoped that Merrill wouldn't give out the fact that they'd found him in dubious circumstances a couple of years before. But Merrill's eyes were set on Carver, as they always were when he was in the room.

* * *

Cullen and his squad had rejoined Meredith, and the Templars had decided to storm the Keep. There weren't as many Qunari there as they'd encountered so far, but their prowess was certainly superior to the others.

Carver had been concerned about Irina's safety, until he'd seen her imprison a Saarebas that Anders had hit with a blast of cold. Her spirit energy was completely different from what he'd seen before, and her whole demeanor was unknown to him. Her eyes were focused and cool, as if she was actually reveling in her newly-found power.

When the last of the Qunari fell on his knees wheezing, Varric asked him, "Where are the Captain of the Guard and her companions?"

The Qunari spat on Varric's boots and hissed, "Basra Vashedan!"

Varric's triple shot finished the dying soldier. "Not the answer I was looking for," he muttered. He looked at Carver, who was staring at him. "What?  _Vashedan_  is an insult. And my boots are relatively new."

"They will probably keep them captive somewhere in this building; not only the Captain, but the people from Hightown as well," Meredith said. "We will investigate the west wing; hopefully the Viscount has escaped through the tunnels. Knight-Captain, take some men with you and enter the barracks. They can't have killed all the Guard." Her eyes landed on Carver and then they fixed on Sigrun. "Tell your people to look in the ceremonial hall. If you do not find anything, then split up and come to our aid."

As soon as the Templars were gone, Varric snorted. "Keep your eyes open, folks! Because there's…" He counted his companions, "seven of us to peep into one room. We might miss them! They're so inconspicuous, those Qunari…"

Irina closed her eyes, sensing. "There's someone there… Several people." She looked at her brother. "I think the people of Hightown are being kept in the hall." As they walked towards the place, Irina asked Varric, "Do you think that Fenris will be there?"

"I do not know, Princess," Varric replied sincerely. "As I said before, the last time I saw him was last night, when he left with Isabela for the docks. He may have joined Aveline this morning."

"So let me understand," Anders said, as they got closer to the hall. "You two had to decide whether to join Aveline for something that concerned the Qunari, or go with Isabela to retrieve something she had stolen."

"Pretty much."

"And you chose Isabela?"

"Would you have left her alone?" Varric asked.

Anders sighed as Carver opened the door to the hall. "I guess not… But still, it seems a little selfish–"

"Quiet," Sigrun said dryly. "We're not alone anymore…"

They were surrounded by a group of Qunari who wielded their spears menacingly. A rumbling voice commanded them from the back of the room and the soldiers shouted something in return, opening the path for them to take a look at their leader and the impaled figure of the Viscount behind him.

Carver looked around: however noble the people in that room were, they felt like cattle waiting to be slaughtered. There were fearful looks in their faces, and a general sense of distress that made him feel sorry for them. He stood before the Arishok, who seemed to be waiting.

"Arishok, we have come in peace," Carver said.

"And yet you bring weapons," the Arishok noted.

"My blade is sheathed," Carver replied, but he saw the Arishok shake his head.

"You have a karataam. I can see at least three staff-wielders. The dwarves are not threatening to us. Now, warrior, tell me: why have you come our way?"

"To look for a friend," he replied. "The Captain of the Guard. I didn't find her body with those of her guards in the compound."

The Arishok raised an eyebrow. "And instead of leaving in a ship, you entered right into the mouth of the beast. That is what your people call us, is it not? Beasts." The Arishok signaled one of the soldiers standing behind him and the Qunari disappeared. "Yet you kill us, maim parts of what we are, and desecrate our relics in an attempt to make us disappear. And time and time again, you fail." The soldier returned with Aveline, whose hands were tied behind her back, and another one brought Sebastian, bound in the same way.

Merrill gasped and clung to Carver's arm when the archer was forced to kneel down. The Arishok held one of his weapons in his hand and swung it almost casually. If Varric didn't know them better, he would have thought that the Arishok already had what he wanted, and now he wanted something else.

"We can negotiate!" he said. "The lives of those two… for whatever it is you've been looking for."

"The Tome of Koslun has been found; it had been stolen by filth, and returned by filth as well. Had she had any sense of honor, she would have stayed and endured the punishment. The thief and the elf decided to escape instead. Disappointing, but predictable. But we will find them. We do not forget."

Anders lowered his eyes and reached out for Irina's hand, but she withdrew it harshly. He'd left. He was gone. That couldn't be. But he was alive. At least he was alive. She felt as if the heavy load she'd carried for an hour had been lifted… and it had been replaced by a hollow, empty space. She looked at Sebastian, who was staring at her. His face was calm, and he seemed to be muttering something. Irina thought that he was probably chanting, trying to make peace with himself or his past.

"The leaders of this city have failed the people. We will take them with us and show them the true way. Those who value their lives will be educated. Those who wish to die will do so." The Arishok raised his sword once more.

"I haven't failed the people!" Carver shouted.

The Arishok took a long look at him. "You are no leader."

"I am their protector," he said, stepping forward. "I will duel you over them."

The Arishok shook his head. "No. You are not Basalit-an. There are not to be more words between the two of us." He looked at Sebastian. "Since you belong to the body that has been involved in the travesties against my kind, I will ask the question personally. Will you submit to the Qun?"

"I would rather die," Sebastian said laconically.

"So be it," the Arishok said. As soon as he raised the sword, he was paralyzed by a swirling mist, silver in colour. Sebastian looked up and searched for Irina, whose eyes were fixed on the Arishok.

The moments after that were hazy and confusing. One of the leashed mages set the Arishok free, but the burst of magic sent the soldiers that were holding Sebastian and Aveline reeling against the walls. The prisoners took the advantage to run towards their companions – Sebastian shouldered a Qunari out of the way and Aveline head-butted another. Sigrun quickly cut their ropes and gave Aveline her sword, while Stroud's bow was taken by Sebastian. As they formed a circle protecting the mages, the Knight-Commander and the Knight-Captain arrived, followed by their squads.

Carver stood in front of his companions. "It doesn't have to be this way," he said to the Arishok quietly.

The formidable man grunted. "Vinek kathas! Ataash varin kata!" he bellowed.

"Nehraa Qun!" the Qunari roared.

* * *

"It all worked out in the end," Isabela reasoned. "I gave Castillon the Tome, and as far as we know, either the oxmen took it back to their compound and made their leader happy, or they died at the hands of the Tevinter freaks. In any case, it is not my problem anymore."

"I would like to believe that, but I doubt the Arishok would simply take the Tome and leave." Fenris's green eyes gazed at the deep-blue water, remembering a promise that he'd made. "But I will not leave you now."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Isabela sighed in relief. "Wait… You're not saying that because we're at sea, are you?"

"That is one of the reasons, yes." There was a full moon rising in the evening sky, silver white and aloof, but at the same time so close that he felt that he could talk to it. "Where are we going?"

"Wycome. It's the only decent place I can think of, and I have a friend there. He'll be able to tell me how long it will be till the Qunari find me and slit my throat."

"That will not happen," Fenris said, trying to sound reassuring. "If anything, you should worry more about any sailors that are still loyal to Castillon."

Isabela snorted. "There is no such thing as loyalty to a dead man."

Fenris smiled. "The Qunari wouldn't kill you, you know? They would try to convert you."

Isabela's smile died on her lips. "Yes… I know."

* * *

Carver sank his blade into the Arishok's broad chest, granting him a quick death. He breathed in and out slowly, wishing that he could take off his armor and rest for a while. He looked over his shoulder and saw Merrill running towards him, while Irina and Anders helped the grateful hostages. As he walked over to Sigrun, who was tending to a wound that Stroud had sustained, he heard someone shouting.

"Champion!"

Meredith looked around. "Champion!" another voice cried. More and more voices joined in the chant. "Champion! Champion! Champion!" She stared at Carver, who looked just as confused as his companions. She shook her head and smiled.

"What's going on, Knight-Commander?" he asked when she caught up with him.

"It appears that the people have chosen their new protector," she said slowly. "My congratulations,  _Champion._ " She bowed curtly and then raised her hands. "People of Kirkwall!" she boomed. "It is a sad day for the city, and yet we stand here, strong and undefeated!" The nobles cheered. Some of them were weeping, still moved by the harrowing experience, but their eyes went from Meredith to Carver. "This man here has risked his life in your name. How shall we salute him?"

"Champion!" the voices said in unison.

"Grey Warden!" Meredith beckoned. "Kneel before me." She slid her sword off the sheath. "Carver Hawke, on behalf of the people of this city, I name you Champion of Kirkwall."

The cheering and the speed of events overwhelmed Irina and Merrill, who were hugging each other. Aveline was shaking her head, but she was beaming, and Sigrun and Stroud were looking at each other. How could the Champion of a city abandon it? Sigrun looked at Meredith, who was staring at her, and she shuddered. There was something odd there, and she hated not knowing what it was.

"Knight-Captain! Tell your men to lead the people out of this place. I need you to stand with me." Meredith's voice was firm and clear. Carver was still in a daze and had no idea what was about to happen.

The Knight-Commander didn't speak again until the hall had been emptied. Cullen closed the doors and returned to her side, wondering why she had decided to remain there. "I am ready, Knight-Commander," he said.

"Right." Her blue eyes looked at Carver, and then she sighed. "It pains me to do this, but… I am afraid that this event today may have certain repercussions."

"The Qunari will not return," Carver assured her. "The only reason we let some of them go was so that they could recover their relic. If someone has wronged them, let them not say that it was someone from this city."

"That was a noble gesture, yes. But I am talking about something else." She stared at Merrill, Anders, and Irina. "If I allow your companions to walk free, every noble family in this city might believe that they have the right to keep their 'talented' children. They will appeal to your sympathies, and that would not be wise."

"What are you saying?" Merrill asked, holding Irina's hand.

"I am saying that I need to take you to the Gallows," Meredith said seriously. "I am sorry, but I must think of–"

"No, absolutely not!" Carver said, raising his voice.

"Knight-Commander," Sigrun intervened. "These mages have aided the city. Don't they deserve some mercy?"

"Mercy?" Meredith echoed. "I said the Gallows, not a prison."

Sigrun could feel Anders's distress with every word uttered. She heard Stroud groaning softly beside her as he stood up to talk. "I'm afraid we'll have to decline, at least when it comes to Anders. He's a Grey Warden, and I think you know what that means... Knight-Commander."

"I am well aware," Meredith replied, her lips thinning.

"Then there is nothing else to say about this, at least when it refers to us." Sigrun's voice was trembling slightly. "Carver, we're leaving right now. You know our mission takes precedence."

"I understand," Carver murmured, looking at Anders.

"No. I'm not going," the mage said stubbornly. His hand looked for Irina's, but he found her body instead. She had let go of Merrill and was holding him close.

"Please…" she begged. "I need you to leave."

"I will not leave you," he insisted, his hands shaking with fear and anger.

"You have to…" Her lips found his ear and whispered, "Do it for me, Justice." She felt his arms wrapping around her, squeezing her till she was breathless. She pressed her forehead against his as she stared into his eyes. "You know how this is going to end–"

"No…" Anders whimpered, understanding what she'd meant.

"I don't want you to see me do it. Please… Just go."

Slowly, he let go of her, their fingers touching one last time. Sigrun and Stroud took him out of the hall quickly, fearing that Justice would manifest in front of the last person that needed to see him. Irina turned to Merrill, who had watched the scene with tearful eyes. She hugged the elven woman and whispered something in her ear. Merrill let out a sob and nodded.

"I promise," she just murmured, and Irina smiled wistfully.

She cleared her throat and approached Meredith. " _I_  will go with you," she told her.

"Over my dead body," Carver hissed. "Are you out of your mind? No, I won't let you–!"

"The Knight-Commander would never take a Dalish," Irina said out loud. "Especially not someone as valuable to her clan as Merrill is. She cannot take the Champion's wife." She looked at Meredith. "But the Champion's sister will do, won't she?"

Meredith gave her a long, level look. "It is acceptable. Knight-Captain?"

Cullen had been watching Irina for some time, remembering the moment he'd met her, and once it had all come back to him, he nodded. "I agree. Shall we, then?"

Carver held his sister in his arms, not wanting to let go. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered in her ear almost furiously.

"Inan needs Merrill, and so do you," Irina explained softly.

"What about Fenris?"

His name felt like an open wound. "He will hate me, but he'll understand," she replied calmly. "Besides, you said it yourself. He has other priorities, doesn't he?" Her voice sounded too cool, too collected, and Carver understood that she was trying not to feel, not to remember what she felt for the elf that had disappeared.

"We should be going now," Cullen told her.

"I'll go with you," Varric offered, knowing that Carver would not be able to deal with the separation quietly.

* * *

As she walked along the streets, escorted by Cullen and Varric, Irina tried to empty her mind. Her staff was being carried by the Knight-Captain, and Varric was holding her hand firmly, giving her the occasional squeeze. She wished he'd stop doing it. Part of her understood that he was being friendly and was trying to comfort her, but he was being warm, and she didn't want to feel anything.

How could she, in all conscience, let Merrill be separated from her daughter? How could she let Anders be locked in a place that he despised? The thought of Justice burning inside him in front of the Templars made her shudder. She was the only logical option, and a little voice inside her wondered what she would have done if Fenris had been there.

Fenris. Her friend, her love; the only man she would ever know. The one who loved her the way she was, and the one who'd made her accept herself. Her body trembled and she felt sick. How she needed him; how she wished that he'd appear and take her away…

As they approached the docks, she remembered: what if he and Isabela were hiding there? They could have returned and hidden until everything had settled down. Surely they hadn't actually left? For the first time since they'd left the Keep, she looked up and around. How she wished to see his face, a glimpse of his green eyes reassuring her, telling her that she was going to be fine. She felt his lips on her skin, the way he'd stir her awake when she dozed off after their love-making.

 _Wake me up, Fenris,_  she thought.  _Please, wake me up, love._  They'd reached the boats already, and she was barely aware of Varric's lips on her hand, wishing her good luck. Someone's fingers wrapped around her forearm. She looked up: Keran. That was the name.

"Let me help you," he said kindly, and she'd let him help her onto the boat. As she sat down and the Templars started rowing, she looked at her hands. She'd left the ring in the house.

"I have to go back," she whispered. She stood up, almost losing balance. "I have to go back!" she shouted.

"Please, remain seated," Keran asked her.

"You don't understand! I have to…!" She looked at Varric, who was still standing on the pier, watching her. "Fenris!" she shouted desperately. " _Please!_  Please, I have to go back!"

"I'm sorry…" Keran said softly, holding her by the arm. Irina looked at Varric once more, but the boat was already picking up speed, and the image of his face was lost to her.

...


	16. Without him

The air smelled of steam and polished stone. If this place could actually get into her mind and try to trick her, so far she wasn't impressed. Every mage knew that the real Fade smelled of faint smoke and sea salt, dampened by the dust of ages. Here, the air was flowing. In the Fade, the air was always still. That was what made the flowing veils scarier: they moved with no help of breeze or wind. Finding these little differences reassured her, and with every step she took into that place, Irina became more confident.

It wasn't long till she found the mirror. At first she thought it was Merrill's mirror, and she stayed away from it. But then something moved on the surface, something that caught her eye. Her reflection, and yet…

A young girl was looking through the glass longingly. The light-brown hair, the grey eyes and the long nose: she recognized herself, and her heart stopped for a second. The little girl slid her hand in the pocket of her apron and Irina knew that she was fishing for a copper. By the time she'd found it, the other children had run off, and Leandra was standing next to her, telling her it was time to leave before the Templars started asking questions.

Irina's eyes focused on her mother's, and the image was distorted. She could see Carver and Bethany sparring at a distance, and their father looking on them approvingly. His large face turned to her and she heard him sigh disappointedly. How she had wished that she could be as strong as her siblings that day…

Irina felt her cheeks burning with shame. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly. As she turned to leave, another image appeared on the surface of the mirror. A young man was glaring at her. He'd seen the value of the others, but he refused to see hers. His face was harsh and derisive, and she remembered him. Green eyes and silver-white hair.

"Forgive me," she whispered, as the image of Fenris stood there, scowling at her. She lowered her eyes and for the briefest of moments, she was overcome by the need to see his face again.

"Irina…" His gravelly voice called her, tugging at the strings of her heart. She looked up and saw him standing in front of her. She gasped and recoiled.

"It's not you…" she whispered, feeling the gap that his absence had left within her. "It can't be you."

"It's me, love," he said softly, reaching out to touch her face. "The one who loves you. The one who wants to be with you… Have you forgotten our time together? Those nights in Amaranthine?" He walked towards her slowly and whispered in her ear, "Have you forgotten the promise I made you?"

"No," Irina replied gently. "Have you?"

"I promised I'd never leave you," he said, gazing into her eyes almost hungrily.

She smiled. "But you did." Her hand felt the chill of the conjured blade only very briefly before she sank it into his stomach. The demon screamed, and Irina was confronted by the image of a wounded Fenris, but his eyes… His eyes were golden, and he seemed to be growing horns… Irina remembered Anders telling her that when it came to demons, fear of the unknown was far more perilous than any other thing. He'd told her about his Harrowing, not thinking that she'd have to go through hers someday.

"Demon," she called, and the entity before her hissed. "I have no quarrel with you. Leave, and I will not kill you."

But the demon smiled.

I do not need to make a pact with you.

You are not the only living being in this place.

Irina looked around. Someone else was there, someone who may not know how to defend themselves. She conjured a staff, the one she'd always had – the familiar weight of the weapon was comforting, even though she knew that it was just an illusion.

You want to vanquish me before I get to them.

Do you think yourself better?

Irina looked at the demon in the eye. "No. I keep my promises. I only want to warn them against you." She turned her back on the demon and starting walking up a luminous path. She heard it speak once more, a hint of amusement in its voice.

Are you not afraid that the test will end for them?

If it does, you might be left behind.

She stopped. "A dear friend of mine told me once that mages always have to prove themselves. Whether we fail or not… It is never a matter of strength." She looked back over her shoulder. "It is always a matter of pride."

The demon gave her a toothy smile. Its skin had covered with scales, and he seemed so large that Irina wondered… She wondered…

A mist swirled around her; a whirlpool of pale colours, smelling of steam and polished stone. She opened her eyes and for a second she saw them, ready to strike her down if she failed.

"The other one…" she murmured, before losing consciousness.

* * *

Riding at a slow pace, Sigrun looked at Anders from the corner of her eye. The mage hadn't spoken since they had left Kirkwall. His face was inscrutable, but his hands seemed to hold on to the reins so firmly that she thought that maybe he was waiting for a chance to gallop away, and she wasn't sure how to act.

"You have been watching me for some time, Sigrun," Anders spoke. His voice sounded different, though; lower, and more serious than usual. The woman cleared her throat.

"Well, yes… I was wondering if you were going to run away again. I was hoping you wouldn't. There's so much we could talk about… Justice," she called him tentatively.

Anders smiled weakly. "You have always been a good friend. It makes me glad to see that you have decided to remain with the Wardens."

"I can never catch a break with them," she smiled. "The Commander is always finding things for me to do."

"Bah," Oghren grunted, having made his horse trot to catch up with them. "Braggart. I get plenty of things to do too."

"Yours mostly involve staying out of trouble, you boorish grunt!"

"Grunt! Me! Ye little Duster…!"

"Enough, both of you!" Stroud groaned and shook his head. "I swear, sometimes it is like watching over children."

"Is that meant to be a reference to our size? Our weapons are just as big as yours, you know…" Even though her words were supposed to be threatening, Anders was under the impression that they had done this many times. As they went on bantering, he thought of the people he had left behind. He had come to think of them as friends – even Sebastian, who represented something that always enraged him, had become a tolerable acquaintance.

Leaving Irina behind had been the hardest part. He was confident that she would pass the Harrowing, and she would never cause trouble in the Circle. But thinking about her being locked in the Gallows hurt him deeply; knowing that she was there because of him and Merrill made it even worse. He had accepted the exile, but only because he knew that one day he would return.

And when he did, the Gallows would burn.

* * *

She opened her eyes and frowned. There was an unfamiliar ceiling above, and her bed was harder than she remembered. The chill of the room hit her and she realized that she was no longer at home. She sat up, feeling that her head was spinning. She pressed her temples hard, trying to hold back the nausea, but she was inevitably sick. Nothing but bile came out of her mouth. She hadn't eaten for two days, and the headache was stronger than ever.

"Water…" she murmured, as she stood up and walked to the door. It was locked. She knocked on it. "Hello? Is anybody there...? Can I have some water, please?"

She heard the clanking of armor coming closer and she stepped back. A bar was removed and the door opened. Keran was standing there, a gentle expression in his face. It changed, however, when he saw the mess on the floor.

"Are you sick?" he asked.

"It may have been the lyrium," she replied weakly. "Please, I need water…"

He signaled someone behind him. "We need cleaning, and spiced wine! Trust me," he said, turning to her, "the wine will help you get rid of the taste of the bile."

Irina nodded, blushing slightly. "I'm glad to see you," she said amicably.

"Me too," he replied. "I was concerned that you hadn't passed it, you know? Because of what you said when you came to. You asked about 'the other one'. It was the Knight-Captain that said you were clear. Otherwise…"

"That's what the demon said. That it didn't need to deal with me, because there was another person there."

Before Keran could answer, however, a blonde woman with bright blue eyes entered the room. "Macha!" Irina exclaimed. But the woman put a finger over her lips, asking for silence. As soon as the door closed, the two women hugged.

"When Keran told me that the Knight-Commander had brought you to the Gallows, I was so distressed. I'm glad to see you alive," Macha smiled. "I've been working here for two months now. Knight-Captain Cullen thought that it would be a good way of earning some extra money, especially with a wee one on the way."

Irina blinked and looked at her. She couldn't believe that she'd failed to notice Macha's pregnancy. The bump underneath her clothes was significant. "I… didn't know. That is excellent news! I didn't think that your husband–"

"My husband died, Maker bless his soul." Macha's sorrowful look made Irina feel embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know that either…" she replied, hiding her face in the goblet of wine.

"He didn't make it to the warehouse where the others took refuge during the attack," Macha explained. "But your brother saved us all, they say. He is the Champion now."

"Many people helped him, but he was the only one who would stand up for the people of Kirkwall, and the one who granted mercy to the surviving Qunari," Irina told her. "And... I am sorry if that troubles you. I wish–"

"I understand," she nodded, her eyes glistening. "It was the will of the Maker. I am alive, and so are my family and my child. That is all that matters."

Keran, who had been cleaning so that Macha wouldn't have to, rested a hand on his sister's shoulder. "Macha is in charge of the cleaning and the linens. You will only see her in the morning. As to myself, the Knight-Captain thought it would be nice for you to have a familiar face around, at least during the first year of your life here."

His words sank in slowly. For the first time since it had happened, she realized that being there was not something that she'd be able to quit whenever she wanted. She was there to stay. But then, Fenris… She felt the air leaving her body as the anxiety of the mistake she had made set in. Her life, the rest of her life, without him.

"But I can't stay…" she murmured.

Keran gazed at her sadly. "You cannot leave. I'm sorry."

Macha held her tight as she finally let the tears run down her face, falling for the life that she would never have.

* * *

_Irya,_

_I am fine. The trouble with Isabela led us towards the east. She needs to find someone here. I shall remain with her for the moment. She is not safe on her own._

_I am sure that Varric must have told you all about the relic. I hope that the Qunari have not given Aveline a headache._

_There is much more I would like to say, but I will do so when we are together again._

_Yours,_

_X_

* * *

Under the supervision of a Senior Enchanter, she had started to make her own grimoire. She recalled her father's – the book that nobody was allowed to see. She had seen him studying it on occasion, right before he would teach Bethany a new spell. She could see now that he'd always meant to teach her that way too, if only she'd let him.

First Enchanter Orsino had welcomed her when she'd first arrived, but something had happened between him and Meredith, and after that day she hadn't seen him again. One morning, two months after her Harrowing, he appeared in one of her training sessions unannounced.

"Please, carry on," he said with a smile. "I will sit here for a while. The old man needs his rest."

"Old man,  _you?"_  Senior Enchanter Moira chuckled. Irina thought that behind the musical laughter of the woman there were some ulterior feelings. "Please, Orsino. You're far from that. It must be all that studying you've been doing that makes you feel that way. You need more exercise. Come, work with this child."

"She's hardly a child any longer," Orsino remarked, walking up to the women. "Irina," he greeted her with a nod.

"First Enchanter," she replied demurely.

He sighed. "See, Moira? When pretty girls call you by your title and not by your name, how can you not feel old?" In spite of the reproach in his voice, he was smirking. Irina suppressed a little shudder. Something about him made her feel strange. Perhaps it was the green eyes, so similar to Fenris's.

She looked down and smiled shyly. "I'll try, Orsino."

"There we go," he said more confidently. "Well then, what are we practicing today, dear?"

"Irina's working on her shielding," the Senior Enchanter replied. "She was about to show me what she can do."

"Will flames do?" Orsino asked the young woman.

"I believe so," Irina replied.

"Stand back then," he said. He waited for her to assume the right position and the flames appeared in his hand.

Irina focused. There was only one word, one thought in her mind,  _Si'jal's Karm_. The voice of the Seneschal of Amaranthine rang in her ears, telling her the story of how he'd learned that spell. _Si'jal's Karm_ ,  _Si'jal's Karm_. It had been Justice who had taught him, causing yet another breach between him and Anders.  _Si'jal's Karm_ ,  _Si'jal's Karm_ ,  _Si'jal's Karm_.

Orsino saw the Fade projection coming from her, consuming his fire like water. He flung a fireball at her, but she remained untouched, her shield standing strong. He wondered if she would tolerate something stronger. He cast a quick look at Moira, who seemed to be concerned.

"I think it is fine already, yes?" the Senior Enchanter said nervously, her eyes darting from the mages to the Templars that had joined the ones who were always watching over them.

"Pushing the limits will only set us free," Orsino smirked. He grabbed the staff that he had left on a table and raised it.

Irina wondered what he was doing when she saw a column of fire sprouting before her. Even though she was still protected, she could feel a warm current penetrating her sheath. Something inside her stirred when the column engulfed her. Hot; not unbearably so, but soon… She closed her eyes and Fenris's took shape in front of her.  _Sla'mne,_  she thought, time and again. She felt the shield around her expanding, spreading, until it burst in a wave of spirit energy that quenched the fire and threw Orsino off balance.

One of the Templars took a few steps towards her, but Orsino raised his hand. "No! I forced her into doing that!" He got back on his feet quickly. "My responsibility!"

"First Enchanter," the Templar said, "I will have to report this to the Knight-Commander."

Irina saw him press his lips together. "I must insist: there is no need," he uttered, trying to remain calm. "This is training. You know what can happen during training sessions."

"But you were–"

"I am not complaining, am I?" Orsino forced himself to smile. "Now, this shall remain between the two of us, understood?"

The Templar beneath the great helm was silently, evidently conflicted. "I will think about it," he informed them, as he turned around and went back to his guarding stance.

"I'm sorry," Irina said. "I didn't mean to cause you trouble."

"My dear," Orsino smiled. "If only it were this… But you've burned too much mana for the day. What do you say if we take lunch together in my office?"

Even though the lunch was simple, Irina felt sick at the thought of eating anything. She wasn't sure that she'd burned mana while she was casting the spell. She hadn't told anyone about the problem that the lack of lyrium had brought about, or the  _umbra_  that she had taken from Fenris. She tried to force herself to eat, but it was pointless. She was grateful when Orsino started asking her questions about her family and her training. He seemed more interested in Carver than any other thing, and she thought it best to preserve Anders's identity and Fenris's involvement in her use of magic. She wondered why being the sister of the Champion was something so interesting to the First Enchanter, but in the time there, she'd come to realize that there was a special air in the Circle. One thing she knew: the relationship between the Templars and the mages in Kirkwall was definitely more complex than it had seemed from the outside.

* * *

"When did you learn about this?" Fenris hissed, refraining from grabbing Isabela by the neck. "Why did you not tell me?"

"Because by the time I heard about it, it was over! The Viscount's dead, and now Kirkwall in under martial law." She looked away. "The Knight-Commander is in charge of it."

Fenris stared at her. "The Templars. The Templars are running the city! Is that what you're saying? Isabela, you know what this means!"

"There's more." No, she couldn't tell him the other piece of information that had been retrieved. If she told him… There was nothing he could do at the moment, right? It would be stupid to distress him: he'd return to Kirkwall and then what? Nobody would get anything out of it. She sighed and said, "There's a Champion in Kirkwall. Someone who defeated the Qunari in close combat. You'll never guess who that is."

"Do you really think that I am in the mood for guessing?" Fenris grunted, though for a brief moment he thought about Sebastian rising to power, and the idea of it wrung his heart.

"Our very own Carver Hawke," she said, smiling.

Fenris blinked. "I don't understand. Carver? That can't be right. He wasn't even–"

"Don't question my source. I have no idea why Carver would be in Kirkwall at the time. Perhaps it was Warden business. In any case, he's been forced to stay in the city. He is their protector, after all."

Fenris tried to think about what that meant for Irina. Her brother was the Champion. He would not let her out of his sight. For the first time in months, he sighed in relief. Surely she was safe. "Then, it is time to return. When can we leave?"

Isabela looked at him apologetically. "There's something else," she said slowly, handing him a piece of parchment. As he read it in disbelief, she added, "Going back to Kirkwall now would be dangerous. And being friends with the Champion won't help us."

"A bounty? On our heads? Who would place such a ridiculous thing? We're not criminals, we–!" He looked at her. "Is this because of the relic?" He sighed. "I should have left you on your own. If I'd aided Aveline instead–"

"I would be dead," Isabela finished his sentence. "Look, I'm… sorry. I truly am. I thought that this would be easier. I didn't plan. I'm not a planner. But please… Don't go back now. If you leave…"

"You made me put my life on hold," he said, shaking his head. "For the first time, I was ready to leave some things behind. For her. Do you know how long it took me to make that decision? Do you know how difficult it was for me to stop thinking that Danarius would come after me? Irina… She made me forget about that. About Tevinter, Hadriana, my grudge… She didn't force me." He sat down and looked at his hands – so empty, so cold. "I want her in my life, Isabela. I am someone without her, yes. But I am better when she's around. Not being able to see her…"

"Help me find my friend," Isabela asked, kneeling in front of him. "He can tell us how serious this bounty is and who exactly placed it, and if everything is fine, we might be able to return to Kirkwall sooner than you think."

"Who is this friend of yours?" Fenris droned, resigned.

"An Antivan Crow," she smiled.

* * *

_Irya,_

_I have just learned the truth about what happened in Kirkwall. My congratulations to your brother for the title he acquired. I am glad to hear that he survived and is doing well. Had I known about the confrontation earlier, I would not have left. But I am pleased to know that now your brother can protect you._

_At the moment there seems to be a bounty on my head. Going back might mean trouble to you, and if this is the only thing I can do to keep you safe, so be it._

_We need to go further north. Once we have established and things are quieter, I will let you know exactly where we are._

_You are in my thoughts day and night._

_Yours,_

_X_

* * *

"I need to ask you a personal question," Macha said tentatively.

"Go ahead," Irina replied. They were in her cell, and she was thinking about a design for the cover of her grimoire. She thought of a wolf, but she wasn't sure that she could carve one.

"You know I am in charge of the linens of this floor…" she started saying uncomfortably. "I never mean to pry, but I couldn't help but notice that your linens…"

"Yes?" Irina looked at her encouragingly.

"Well, they're not… What I mean is… You're not bleeding," she blurted out.

Irina gave her a clueless stare. When she finally realized what the young woman had meant, her face went crimson. "Oh! You mean… Well… That's true, I guess. I cannot really remember when was the last time…"

"Never since you came here. It's been over three months already," Macha said hurriedly. "And I noticed you've barely been eating, and yet you don't seem to have lost weight."

"What are you saying?" Irina asked, confused.

"I recognize it. And you should too – you've seen it in many of the women in Lowtown, when you ran the little clinic." She held Irina's hand. "I know you are not married, but it is no shame…"

Irina slipped her hand away and shook her head. "It cannot be. I… No, it's impossible."

"You mean you didn't have a lover?"

"I… I did, but…" A paralyzing feeling took over her. She tried to remember how long it had been since she had bled, or when she had last lain with Fenris, but her mind refused to recall the dates. She'd seen other women feeling sick and suffering from bodily pains that were similar to what she was going through, but never had she thought that something like that could happen to her. "I don't know, Macha. It could be just my nerves. Being here has been a trying experience, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was taking a toll on my body."

"I'm just saying what I see… I've got some experience with that," she said, pointing to her enormous belly. "But… You need to know, because you know what happens with babies born in the Circle."

"I don't…" The words died on her lips. Suddenly, the images of the orphans that lived in the Chantry flashed before her eyes. "But I have a family!" she exclaimed. "If… If what you're saying was true… I have a family who could take care–!"

Macha shook her head. "It doesn't work that way. They will take it away. Trust me: I've seen it happening." She noticed Irina's confusion and squeezed her hand. "Listen… If there's any herb or root that you can take to… get rid of it, you should do it soon. It could be dangerous for you if you waited…"

"I'm… I'll think about it," Irina babbled, wishing Macha would leave her alone.

That night, as she lay in bed, she examined her body. How could she have ignored the symptoms? Anders had told her how to recognize them, but she'd been so focused on adapting, so intent on coping with her life there, that she'd forgotten to take care of herself. The thought of something inside her, something that was Fenris's as well, made her feel both thrilled and heartbroken. She couldn't explain it.

The words of the demon came back to her. "You are not the only living being in this place," Irina murmured. Would a demon know? And what if… What if she hadn't actually defeated it, and it had found a way into the world through her? If that was the case…

She made her choice, and because of it, sleep was elusive that night.

* * *

_Irya,_

_We are in Antiva now, trying to find Isabela's associate. I have made my decision: as soon as we find him, I will return to Kirkwall, bounty or no._

_Since we are staying here for the moment, you can try to send me a reply through the person who will be delivering this message._

_I miss you._

_Yours,_

_X_

* * *

"Here." Keran left her new robes on the bed. "Macha assures me that the pattern on the fabric will help you conceal it."

"Tell me she kept the rest of the money," Irina said softly as she inspected the new clothes.

"It took some persuading, but she eventually agreed. Since she can't work here for the moment, at least not till my mother's fully recovered, anything helps."

"She can ask Carver for help, you know that."

"She doesn't want charity," Keran replied gently. "If I recall correctly, you didn't want that either when you moved in with your uncle."

"I am not offering charity. The estate is too big for Bodahn and Orana. They could always use another hand; I'm sure that Macha could take care of Inan and her little Willem."

"And your own," Keran said resolutely. Irina wrung her hands nervously.

"I haven't decided yet. It's just too risky for you. If they discovered that you have smuggled it out…"

"They won't. I've claimed you."

Irina raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Keran looked down embarrassedly and sat on the bed. "Not all of us are bad, Irina. Some in the Order do consider that mages are to be kept under control at all times; that much is true. But there are others like me, Ser Thrask, Ser Allen… We do not think of you mages as abominations waiting to happen. But we're not the majority. The others... They know of us, and trust me; for one reason or another, sometimes they make our lives difficult as well."

"What about the Knight-Captain?"

"I think that the Knight-Captain can be reasoned with. But even he has trouble keeping all of us in check. There were some brothers that did some pretty harsh things. They found their bodies in the old passages, along with that of a young girl… It was gruesome. I was there to recover the bodies. The ones that are left do not hold such extreme views, but we're all expected to claim a mage."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Irina asked, sitting beside him.

Keran fidgeted with the hem of her new robe. "When we claim a mage… We sort of let the others know that nobody is allowed to take advantage of them. You know what I mean…" He blushed. "The young women are usually the only ones claimed. And well… I had to do it."

"I think I understand." She pressed his hand warmly. "Thank you, Keran. You've done more for me than I could ever hope."

"It wasn't all for you, I must admit." His boyish smile was even more timid than usual. "You see… There's someone else that has my attention. But the Chantry frowns upon that kind of union. I tried to stay true to Andraste, but how can something so real, so pure, be so bad?"

"It isn't," Irina said quickly. "If you truly feel it, it's not bad. What is his name?"

"Alain," Keran replied sweetly. "You may have seen him. He's one of the Starkhaven bunch."

"The dark-eyed boy? He seems nice. I haven't had ti–" She stopped, prey to a strange sensation. She pressed her hand to the lower part of her belly and felt the slightest of movements. Her eyes opened wide. It was alive, definitely alive. Fenris's child was alive, in spite of how careless she had been all those months. She turned to Keran, beaming.

"Enjoy it," the Templar said, kissing her on the cheek, and he left the room.

She lay down, trying to secure the newly-found feeling of that child moving timidly. Her hands glowed with healing magic, pouring in and out of her in tender waves. She closed her eyes and imagined that the energy that Fenris had given her was touching their child, and in a way, he was there too.

* * *

_Irya,_

_I was expecting word from you. I am sorry that you were not there when my message reached Kirkwall. Please, do not put yourself at risk, for Anders or for anybody else._

_We are moving further north. It seems that this journey will take me further away from you before it gets me close._

_I hope that this message finds you, and please send word that you are fine. Do not forget my feelings for you._

_Yours,_

_X_

* * *

"Message, m'lord?" the young man asked.

Carver stared at the letter. He'd read all of them, even though they were not meant for him. He shook his head. "No," he finally told him, to Merrill's disappointment. "Get him something to eat. You can rest here tonight, lad. But you won't be carrying a message this time." Having said that, he left the room.

Merrill took the boy to the kitchen and returned to her husband's side. She closed the door of the study room behind her softly and stared at him.

"You won't make me feel guilty," Carver said, without looking at her.

"I don't need to. I think you already do." She walked silently towards where he was sitting and stood in front of him. "Why don't you tell Fenris–?"

"What? What should I tell him?" Carver snarled. "That my sister is locked up in the place that my father swore never to return to because that woman he's defending was too selfish? That I'm also stuck here because of her?"

"I thought you were happy to return to us," Merrill murmured, slightly hurt.

Carver grabbed her by the waist and made her sit on his lap. "You are the only good thing that's happened to me in a long time," he said, kissing her hand. "You and Inan are the only reason I'm not storming the Gallows and dragging her out of that place. And she's so stubborn! Why does she refuse to see us?"

"Give her time," she said, tucking his hair behind his ear lovingly. "Perhaps seeing us reminds her of what she can't have now."

"Should I tell him, then?" Carver asked her. "Should I say that Irya's a Circle mage now because of Isabela's petty actions?"

"Isabela's not the only one to blame, ma vhenan…"

"She didn't trust any of you. I wonder how she can sleep at night, knowing that the deaths of all those people are on her shoulders. If she ever returns, Merrill… I don't know how I will react."

Merrill hugged her husband and kissed his forehead. "Don't send a reply, then," she sighed, unsure that they were doing the right thing.

* * *

She had been prowling for a long time now, and her fingers and legs were itching for some action. At Fenris's signal, Isabela jumped behind one of the guards and stabbed him about the back. Her left hand held the hilt of her dagger steadily in place as she cut across the second guard's throat with a swiftness that only she could boast about. She barely ducked a third guard's swing at her head, and she jumped back just in time to avoid the blade that had pierced through the man's chest.

"Oi, you!" she hissed at Fenris. "Be more careful with that!"

"It's not my fault that the Antivans don't wear heavier armor!" Fenris growled as he deposited the man's body gently on the floor.

"Shush!" Isabela looked around, sensing. "There's someone nearby, I can tell…"

The rustling of leaves in the trees nearby caught her attention. She took her throwing knife from her cinch and threw it in the direction of the sound. The knife hit something and then fell to the ground, followed by a figure that descended from the tree almost gracefully.

"Your instincts are always right, my goddess," the man chuckled, "but you lack the strength to make an appropriate strike."

"Perhaps you could teach me that technique of yours," Isabela purred, sauntering towards him.

"There are many things I could teach you, as I always do," the man grinned. He looked at Fenris appreciatively. "Hello, handsome! Glad to make your acquaintance, I'm sure." He crossed his arms over his chest and bowed.

"This is your associate?" Fenris asked incredulously.

"Indeed I am, sweetheart," the blond elf smiled roguishly. "My name is Zevran Arainai, and I thank you for getting rid of those bad, bad men who were hunting me."

"You?" Isabela asked. "What have you done this time?"

"Same as you two, it seems. Messed with someone big, and now there's a price on my head."

"This is wonderful," Fenris muttered bitterly.

Zevran turned to him and smiled. "I suppose our chances of survival are greater now. The more, the merrier, isn't it, my darling?" He kissed Isabela's hand.

Fenris let out a deep sigh. Things never seemed to get easier.

* * *

_Irya,_

_Your silence wounds me, just as my failure to uphold the promise I made you must have hurt you. My exile is not something I can end at the moment. We are escaping from the Antivan Crows, the Magisters, and the Orlesians._

_When I look back at the times we had together, I wonder if they were real. Perhaps I am imagining you, and I never really escaped Danarius. Did we really meet, or was it just a delusion? Perhaps I am still in that gloomy mansion, lying in a pool of my own blood, feverishly willing you into existence._

_Yours,_

_X_

* * *

That night, Keran was patrolling the corridor when he heard her grunting inside her cell. He looked around to make sure that nobody else was nearby and unlocked the door. He found her sitting on the edge of the bed, water trickling down her bare legs.

"I'm s-sorry," she stuttered. "I've b-been trying to h-hold it back, b-but…" She clenched her fists and grunted as quietly as she could. Keran wondered if it was the right time to carry out his plan. If it was too early, then they could all be in trouble.

"Are you sure this is it? Shouldn't it be a month from now?" he asked, holding her hand. The pressure of her fingers and the pain reflected on her face told him that she'd endured more than she could. Her own magic wouldn't work on her anymore. "I see… Do not worry. Let me get Macha. She's sleeping in one of the empty cells at the end of the corridor."

"She's… She's here?" Irina asked, her forehead pearled with cold sweat. "Why's sh-she here? She's got… Sh-she's got her own ch-child to…"

"Orana is taking care of Willem, so don't you worry about a thing…" He straightened up and took his dagger. "I'll take you to the dungeons. It's the only place that nobody will find it strange if they hear a woman screaming. We only have one chance… Are you sure that this is it?"

Irina nodded and stared at the dagger. "What… What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes wide open. She saw him make a small cut under his cheekbone, which started to bleed profusely. "I don't understand…"

"If anybody asks, I'll say that you fought back when I tried to force myself upon you. Hold this between your legs," he said, tearing the sheets and crumpling a part of them into a ball. "We shouldn't leave any traces."

He gave her time to ready herself as he knocked on Macha's door. Brother and sister returned to Irina's place. Keran grabbed her by the wrist and led her outside. The floor was quiet that night, and he took the chance to use the shortcut to the dungeons that some of the others usually used. Macha followed them stealthily.

When they arrived, Keran made sure that nobody would interfere. He entered one of the holding cells and closed the door behind them. Irina's heart sank when she saw the wooden table. It reminded her of Anders's clinic, but this place felt wrong, cruel and soul-destroying; not a place where a life could come into being. The thought of her child being born there scared her. She turned to Keran and Macha, and she was about to say that it would be a mistake when a sudden pang of pain hit her, making her groan loudly. She covered her mouth so as not to scream, but she was worried that she wouldn't make it, that she wouldn't know how to do it.

"Lie down," Macha instructed her. "I will not leave you. You know how to do this."

Keran stood back nervously, saying a silent prayer. He thought he'd heard some footsteps outside the door once, but Irina's screaming had probably given the man outside a clear idea of the pain that she was going through.

It was a burning sensation; the feeling that there was nothing that would quench it, and she would be consumed by it. She would die there. The spasms hit her in waves, and she remembered the time that she had received the blow meant for Fenris. She could still feel the taste of her own blood in her mouth. She had stopped listening to Macha's instructions. The pain was tearing her apart; it was sheer agony, and she would die there, she knew it. She'd never see him again, and he'd forget her. She couldn't… She just couldn't…

"Forgive me, Fenris," she whispered, feeling that her body could no longer handle the torture. Thick tears streamed down the sides of her face and she felt a lightness that convinced her that she was dying.

A meek cry snapped her out of her thoughts. A sound that she'd heard a few times. She tried to focus, but she couldn't recall where or when…

"It's a boy," Macha said, placing the wailing baby on her chest. Irina didn't understand. No horns. The child was normal. She placed her hands on him, and the moment she touched his back, she felt the magic coming back to her, pouring over the two of them, cleansing and healing. The baby went quiet and Irina smiled. She still felt the tears running down her face, but nothing mattered. She was alive. He was alive. He was fine.

Keran stood in front of her. "I'm sorry," he said softly, and he extended his arms to cover the baby with a sheet.

"No…" Irina whimpered, pressing the baby against her chest. "Please, don't… Don't take him away, please."

"You know we have to, before someone comes," the Templar explained gently.

Irina lowered her head. "Please…" she cried, kissing the baby's head with trembling lips.  _Si'jal's Karm,_  she thought, feeling the cool rush of mana flowing around her body.  _Si'jal's Karm, Si'jal's Karm, Si'jal's Karm…_  The shield surrounded her and the baby.

"Don't make me do this," Keran said sadly, holding two fingers together and pressing the side of them against his forehead. Macha placed a hand on his arm.

"Give her a moment to say goodbye," she pleaded, giving Irina an understanding look.

The mage sobbed quietly and dispelled the shield. She stroked the baby's cheek, still dirty from the blood and the water and everything else that had come out of her. A thousand thoughts swirled around her head. Would she ever see him again? If she did, would he recognize her? Would Fenris ever meet him?

"Forgive me," she whispered once more, as she kissed him one last time.

"What is his name?" Macha asked, as she handed the baby to Keran.

Irina was barely paying attention, her grey eyes fixed on the child that was about to be taken away from her for good. "Lysander," she finally murmured numbly.

"Lysander Hawke," Macha said with a smile. "I will take care of him, and he will know of you."

Irina felt the sting of tears yet again, and Keran took the child away before she could say anything else. But there was nothing she could do. She was empty once more, and she wondered how she would manage to live without him.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late posting. The story is originally posted on FanFiction.net, whose servers have been having issues lately.


	17. Ocean

Keran locked the door behind him and escorted Macha towards the exit. Brother and sister prayed that Lysander would not start crying; he'd been wrapped in swaddling clothes and was now being carried in a basket. Keran shuddered at the sight of the bloody rags that were almost touching the baby's face. Somehow, the smell of the blood and the fluid that had come out of his mother seemed to soothe him.

The few Templars posted along the corridors and around the courtyard paid little attention to them. They would always turn a blind eye to whatever one of their kind was doing at night, as long as no mages were involved. Keran saw Thrask waiting near the harbor and signaled him discreetly. Thrask nodded and made his way back to the dungeons. Keran only managed to breathe out when Macha finally boarded the boat that would take her back to the docks of Kirkwall. He watched his sister leave until she was out of sight, and then he ran back towards Irina. He'd still have to burn the cloths they'd used and clean the mess before sneaking her back to her cell.

He was on his way there when he saw Thrask carrying Irina's limp body in his arms. "She fainted," the older Templar explained hurriedly. "She couldn't handle the pain. I found her kneeling near the fire. She looked at me… Oh, Keran. There was such sorrow in her eyes. And her hands…"

With trembling fingers, Keran held up Irina's arm. It wasn't hard to spot what Thrask was referring to. He didn't need to see it: he could  _smell_  it. "Maker! Oh, Maker!" he gagged, gently putting down the bloodied, blistered hand. "Magic?" Keran asked. Thrask shook his head sadly.

"Hot coals. I only managed to get them out of her hands once she'd passed out."

"But why?" Keran was walking in front of them, making sure that they'd be able to return to Irina's cell without incident. "Why would she do that?"

Thrask looked down and saw Irina's broken face. She'd lost her innocence and possibly her faith, and he thought of the child that he'd once had. "From what you've been telling me, she's got plenty of reasons to do something like this…"

* * *

"Papa, no!  _My_  fruit!" Inan squealed when Carver stole a little piece of apple from her plate. He stuck his tongue out at the little girl and tousled her hair.

"And you're  _my_  daughter, so what's yours is mine, da'len," he said, poking her nose.

"Mamae!" Inan protested, looking for support from her mother, who just shook her head and chuckled. Merrill cut another piece of fruit for the child and received her husband's kiss on the forehead before he sat at the table.

"You snored a lot last night. I thought the house was under attack," the elf remarked. "I suppose that the Comte brought out the good spirits?"

"It's the only way I can put up with his wife's accent." He took an apple and gave it a big bite. "You'd think that she would have lost it by now, having lived here for ages. Are you feeling better?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?" she asked distractedly while she watched Inan playing with her food.

"You said you were indisposed?" Carver stared at his wife inquisitively and it took her a few seconds to react.

"Oh!  _That!_  Yes! I'm much better. It was nothing, really. I mean, nothing  _serious."_

"Merrill…" Carver reached out to hold her hand. She glanced at him with her big green eyes and blushed. He sighed. "I really don't know how to convince you that I am not ashamed of you. You are my wife, the woman I chose. And I love your ears. And I'm sure that other people would love them too if you gave them a chance. Being in this house all the time is not good for you."

"I know…" Merrill sighed. "It's just…" She shrugged. It was so hard for her to explain why she felt that being his wife was of little importance to those people; that she would always be an outsider for them. But whenever she looked into his eyes and saw the way he loved her, nothing really mattered, except for what they had together. "Ma vhenan, I–"

Someone knocked on the door timidly. Bodahn's head popped up. "Messere? You've got a visitor..."

"Can it wait till I'm properly dressed?" Carver asked, standing up.

"I think you'll want to know this as soon as possible," the dwarven servant replied, letting Macha in. She looked tired but hopeful, and she stepped into the room confidently.

"Merrill. Carver…" she murmured, bowing her head.

"Macha! No need to do that!" Merrill noticed the bundle that she was carrying in her arms and she beamed. "Oh, you've brought your little one with you!"

"No…" The young woman seemed to be looking for words. "This is Lysander, Irina's child."

Merrill's smile froze in her face. She blinked. She looked at her husband and, finding the same astonishment, she looked back at Macha. "I'm sorry. I don't think I understand. You said…?"

"Irina. Your sister?" Macha said, looking at Carver. "She… Well, when she was taken to the Gallows, she was with child. She didn't know this. We… My brother Keran and I… We managed to take him away before the Templars realized that she'd had a baby. She didn't want him to be given to the Chantry, and she thought it would be better if you could raise him…?"

Carver frowned. It was not hard to believe that Irina and Fenris had been closer than he would have liked them to be. Was that the real reason why his sister had refused to see him all those months? He was confused. "When…?" he tried to asked, but his voice broke down. He cleared his throat. "When was it born?" he managed to ask.

 _"_ _He,"_  Macha corrected softly. "His name is Lysander, and he was born yesterday." She walked towards the couple and left the baby in Merrill's arms. A black fluff covered his head, and he was sleeping peacefully. "Were we right?"

"Excuse me?" Carver said, his eyes fixed on his nephew.

"In doing this… Bringing him here to you. Irina wants him to grow up with a family. Will you take him in?"

"Of course we will," Merrill murmured. "Tell her, ma vhenan," she said, turning to her husband. It wasn't surprising for her to see him entranced by the quietness of the baby. In his eyes –always so honest, so easy to read– she could see the love that he had for his sister already transferring to the child. He took the baby from Merrill and gazed at him.

"Is she…? How is she?" he asked Macha.

The blonde woman tried to smile. "I'm afraid that this won't be easy for her."

"Did she mention the father?"

"The name 'Fenris' came up. But she didn't tell us to look for him. She would only think of you as an option."

"Of course she would," Carver said, kissing the baby's forehead. "Lysander…"

"Did she name him after Anders?" Merrill asked, holding Inan up so that she could see her cousin.

"I think she named him after my mother," Carver murmured. "Macha, I… I don't know how to thank you for this."

Macha blushed. She looked down and wondered if she'd be able to swallow her pride. It had been, after all, Irina's idea. "Your sister wishes me to be his wet nurse. She… told me that I should ask you for–"

"But of course," Carver nodded. "Yes. You and your child are more than welcome to stay with us. You don't know what this means to me. I really cannot thank you enough…" His voice softened as he gazed at his nephew once more.

* * *

Alain wiped her forehead with a wet cloth and she whimpered weakly. The fever hadn't gone down, despite the potion that he'd prepared for her. He looked back at Thrask and shook his head.

"Still no improvement?" the Templar asked.

"I'm worried. I don't know what else to do," Alain replied. "She's a better healer than I am. I could ask–"

"No," Thrask sentenced. "We don't need more people involved in this. Word gets around… It may reach unfriendly ears. Then again, if she dies…" Ser Thrask remembered the kindness that the now Champion of Kirkwall had once had with him. Only a handful of his brothers and sisters in the order knew of the daughter that he had lost. It had been the Champion who had delivered the news, and Thrask had always felt some kind of friendliness for the man who had gained nothing out of being kind to a stranger like him. The Templar pondered for a while and then he asked, "Who do you think can aid her?"

Alain looked at him with his amber eyes. "Grace," he replied.

The mage from the Anderfels was summoned in secrecy. She asked to be left alone with Irina, but Ser Thrask refused to take that risk. She laid her hands on the bedridden woman and closed her eyes. Whatever she saw, she kept it to herself. "She needs some tonics, and plenty of food," she determined. "She has lost too much energy, and she's too weak to fight for her life."

In the following days, she fed Irina herself, mixing the tonic that she'd prepared herself with broth. Her eyes always stared at the young woman intensely, which unsettled Keran. When the young Templar asked her if she knew Irina, she just replied curtly, "I met her brother once. I am not surprised to see her here."

* * *

Isabela waited as Zevran skillfully tied up the hands of the only survivors. The man spat a curse in Orlesian and the woman shushed him, scowling at the pirate.

"I'm bored with this game, my dears. I know you Orlesians like this thing of chasing someone and letting them go, only to chase them again… But I think it's time to finish it. So, let's do something else. I'll give you two options, but you both have to agree on one. What do you say?"

The man struggled but the woman looked at Isabela with her dark eyes. "What are the options?" she asked with a heavy accent.

"Oh, I like her," Zevran chuckled from behind.

"You like everybody," Fenris droned.

"That is certainly true, my dear," Zevran winked.

Isabela rolled her eyes. "Look – we all know this isn't about having the honor of getting a successful assassination. I hate to say this, but we are not important people. Shit has already happened, so there's no reason for you to come after us anymore."

The woman licked her lips quickly. She was tired and sore, and all she wanted to do was to return to Lydes and be with her family. "We have a contract," she said hurriedly.

"That's what I thought. So, can _I_  hire you?" Isabela grinned. "Because that could be an option, especially since there's only two of you left, and your price must have gone down, seeing that you're not in a favorable position. You get some money, maybe some of my clothes drenched in blood, and you return and say that you have dealt with me."

"Don't you dare…" the man hissed, looking askance at the woman.

"I could also give one of you a shiv and let you decide who will live," the pirate sighed. "Though I'd rather avoid that option, because it's just as useless as throwing you two off-board."

"Why haven't you?" the woman asked.

Isabela shrugged. "There is no conflict between us, honestly. You are an instrument, pretty much like my friends here – or myself. It is not personal. Now, we can finish this, or you can force me to do something I really do not want to do."

"Untie me and I'll show you how personal it is, whore!" the man barked.

The woman looked down and shook her head. "Give me the shiv," she muttered.

Isabela smiled.

* * *

Merrill kissed Lysander's cheek sonorously and the three-month-old presented her with a silent smile. His dark hair was very similar to Carver's, but his eyes were as grey as Irina's. Merrill wondered if Fenris had had black hair before he'd been infused with lyrium. She believed so, and she was grateful for the similarities between her own child and that of her sister's. They had used Merrill's constant excuses for avoiding social meetings as a way to explain his sudden presence in the household: she had been with child, and it had been a difficult pregnancy. Nobody knew that the Taint prevented Carver from having any more children, and Kirkwall's high society had praised the home of the Champion, twice blessed with healthy children. Even the Knight-Commander had sent her regards.

And now that Carver had started wandering off again, she found solace in taking care of both children. Inan adored her cousin, whose presence there had a positive influence on her behavior. Her father's absences had been hard on her once she had accustomed to his being around, but she believed her mother when she told her that her father would always return to them.

Sometimes Merrill wished that she could accompany Carver. But after the last time -when he'd helped Aveline with issues with the previous Captain of the Guard, and he'd come back home with a broken rib and a bruised cheek-, she thought that for the sake of both children, she should remain with them as much as possible.

When he entered the room that morning, however, she saw him emotionally broken. "Ma vhenan?" she called softly. "Is something the matter?"

"We found Bartrand," he replied in a low voice. "He was… His mind is gone. We're trying to find a healer." He sighed. "I wish Anders was here. And Varric; I'd never seen him so…" He shook his head resignedly. "I don't know. It was sad, Merrill."

"It is his brother. I think I understand how he must be feeling."

"He wanted revenge. I know that what Bartrand did to us is unforgivable. But what could we get from someone who has no idea whether he's alive or dead?" He rubbed his face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't trouble you with these things…"

"Oh, love…" Merrill said, standing up and walking towards him. "That is why we're together. If we can't share our miseries with each other, then what good–?" She was interrupted by Carver's kiss. When they parted, he smiled at her.

"Thank you." He looked at the child in her arms. "Hello there, my man! Are you awake today?" Lysander wrinkled his nose and smiled. "Oh, you are so precious, Sand," Carver murmured. "I wish your mother could see you…"

* * *

Irina sat on her bed, staring blankly ahead. It was still dark outside. The Circle wouldn't come to life until sunrise, and so she waited. The half-finger gloves that Keran had bought for her in the market were lying next to her. Keran was always nice. He had told her that she should go out to the courtyard and see the stalls for herself, but she had no desire to do so. Too much energy was drained out of her every day when she forced herself to act normally. He had tried to give her news about the baby, but she had refused to hear anything. When he told her about Carver's wish to see her, she simply went silent and looked down. Only once he had managed to get a sentence out of her.

_"_ _Has Fenris asked to see me?" she asked, after he'd told her about Carver for the hundredth time.  
_ _"_ _No, he hasn't. I'm sorry," the Templar replied, and saw her look away and remain still for the rest of his stay in her cell. She hadn't asked again._

She blinked and looked at the tonic that Grace had left for her on the shelf. Macerated centipedes again. She smiled bitterly. Every day spent there reminded her of Anders's stories, and even though this Circle seemed different, she could comprehend the effect that those walls could have on a person. She remembered the words that Fenris had told her some time after they'd met: how the Gallows had been a prison, and how fitting it was that the Circle of Magi had been located there. She had once wondered if that was the right place for her.

_"Not you," he had said, cupping her face in his hands. "Not you."_

Well, she was one of them now.

She looked at her palms, ruined after the fire. Alain had tried to heal her for many days. When he had started to doubt himself, she had told him the truth: she wasn't letting herself heal. Magic would not touch her more than it was necessary. She treated herself with the ointment she prepared at the Circle Gardens. She had access to many more herbs and saps than ever before, and she tried to reproduce and improve what Anders had taught her. That was how she spent her days: working with the Tranquil, making potions and balms, and scribbling her findings in her grimoire, whose cover was carved with the image of a wolf, one that she had never finished.

_"Those animals wouldn't hesitate to kill you," he had told her.  
"It's in their nature. They can't help it," she had replied._

She was a mage. However hard she had tried to deny it, it was part of her identity. It didn't define her, but it made her different. All those years she had rejected her power, wishing that she didn't have it… But it had been the only thing that had always been there for her. The pain had returned – the needles that had once frightened her were back. Only this time, she welcomed them.

.

 _"_ _When I found you that evening in Hightown, remember?" They lay entwined in each other's arms, their palms touching – his so rough, hers so soft. The morning was still far away, but he had promised to leave before dawn. "You were bleeding so badly… And you were delirious," she chuckled. "You said such strange things…"  
_ _"_ _What did I say?" he murmured, touching her hand with his lips.  
She shrugged and smiled. "Just silly things…"  
He lifted her chin with his fingers and gazed into her eyes. "I may have said that you were soft and tender," he murmured, kissing her neck softly. "That you deserved to wear rich silks and velvets." His fingertips slid down her spine. "That your voice was better suited for musical instruments, and your mouth was made to find delight in delicacies…"  
Her grey eyes looked silver in the moonlight; his green eyes were a smoldering fire. His lips pressed against her, searching for hers, as she threw her arms around his neck. His hands ran down her sides, his thumbs stroking the curve of her waist. "_'Ocean, await! / Your waves once caressed my weary feet, / All that you are is what I wish for me. / I laid down my life and hoped your love to be; / A lifetime may take, / yet I will return to thee.'  _One day, when we were alone, you asked me what I was reading and I refused to tell you. I hadn't understood the meaning behind those words until I had you…"_

.

The pain of her clenched fists brought her back, and she realized that she had been crying. Their last night together: that had been the night…

She mustered her strength to endure the throbbing spasms. Every pang removed a memory. She heard movement outside and looked up. The Templars had come to unlock their doors. She put on the gloves wincing, she brushed her tears away, and she breathed in deeply. When she breathed out, a quiet smile appeared in her face, and she waited.

She was getting ready for a morning like any other when the First Enchanter entered the storeroom of the herbalists. "Ah, and here she is," he said amicably. "The elusive girl. I thought you had disappeared already."

"First Enchanter," she bowed. When she saw him raise his finger, she corrected herself. "Orsino."

"That's much better," he smiled. "Moira was telling me that you haven't been evaluated for a long time. In fact, since the last time we practiced together, and that was almost a year ago. We can't let you forget your defensive stance, can we?"

Irina trembled. She hadn't held a staff for a long time. She doubted that her hands were strong enough to tolerate the pressure of the impact of sparring staves. "I'm not ready…" she murmured.

"Oh, you know I won't be harsh," Orsino replied. "This will be only practice. Besides, it will give us the chance to talk. I've been hearing some things, and I would certainly appreciate the conversation…"

Irina's heart skipped a beat. She smiled and nodded nervously. "Of course, Orsino."

Once again, under the supervision of the Templars, Irina and Orsino stood in the Training Hall. Aware that she was not holding the staff properly, Irina turned to face the First Enchanter. As he pointed out three possible movements that he could do to disarm her, she asked, "What is it that you would like to talk about, Orsino?"

He stood behind her and pretended to show her the weak point of the staff. "Yesterday I heard some troubling rumors… One of the boys, a young man called Alain…"

"What about him?" she asked quietly.

"He hasn't eaten for some days, and he seems to have been avoiding sleep as well. He… tried to take his own life," he murmured, his hands showing Irina the most effective position to block an attack. "Edwin, the Tranquil, says that you and Alain have talked on occasion. I thought you might know something."

"Is it difficult for you to talk to him?" Irina asked genuinely.

Orsino sighed. "I am afraid of discovering something that might complicate matters with… some people."

Irina looked at the guarding Templar from the corner of her eye. "Do you wish me to speak to him?"

Orsino smiled. "Thank you, my child. And now, let us deal with our business."

She swallowed hard. "It is not necess–" Orsino's first blow caught her off guard and made her drop the staff.

"A little tighter, but not too much! Take it and try again," the mage encouraged her. She bent down and picked up the staff. Her fingers gripped it tightly and she winced when the staff touched her palm. A voice inside her told her that she had wanted that. Not healing had been her choice.

She stood in front of the First Enchanter and waited. Her hands were grasping the weapon oddly, as if it was a snake, or something that would come to life and harm her. Her vacillation motivated him and he lunged forward, delivering a low blow to her knee. She fell forward with a gasp, but she broke her fall with her hands, which made her shriek.

"You should know these things already. Get on your feet and try again!" Orsino rallied her. She groaned and stood up. "Point it to my face! Don't let me see how close I am to you!" He raised the lower end of the staff, moving it in circles, holding up the free hand in front of his face.

Irina didn't know what to do. If she had ever fought with a staff, she had forgotten it completely. Orsino hit her on the elbow, sending a jolt down her arm. Her hands were killing her. She had to stop that. She had to heal herself. When the First Enchanter parried a blow to the head with the higher end of his staff, she raised both ends of her own staff to halt the blow.

The shield she had inadvertently cast hit Orsino square on the chest and sent him reeling backwards. She screamed and lowered the shield; following Orsino's raised hand and warning look, she barely had time to turn around before the energy of the Templar hit her. She fell to the floor, unconscious.

"Why did you do that?!" Orsino bellowed. "I was in control!"

"You were not!" the Templar protested. "You cannot handle them with a loose leash; they'll turn on you like dogs!"

"Mind your words, young man!" Orsino's voice was threatening. He rushed to her side and took her in his arms. "Get the things off the table now!" He laid her body on the wooden surface and checked her breathing. "She's alive…"

"Of course she is," the Templar replied, offended. "We'd never–!"

"Silence! Leave us alone! Alone, I said!" he roared. The Templar was about to object to the order, but one of the Senior Enchanters and two apprentices stood in front of him, so he had no choice but to stand down.

Orsino loosened Irina's collar so that she could breathe better. She whimpered as she moved her hands and he removed one of her gloves. The sight of her wounds took him by surprise. He stared at her. She was regaining consciousness. He gently put the glove back on and smiled amicably when she apologized for having used her magic.

"No harm done, my dear," he said pensively, something taking shape at the back of his mind.

* * *

Thrask escorted her to Alain's cell. Keran had argued with his lover and Thrask thought it better if they stayed away from each other for some time. "Alain?" she called softly. She found him curled up on his bed, pressed against the wall. "Alain, are you–?"

"No…" Alain sniveled. "Please… Just leave…"

"I need to know what happened to you," Irina said, kneeling beside his bed. "Please… Keran is worried," she murmured. That seemed to distress the mage even more. He shook his head frantically.

"I cannot tell you… Please, don't make me tell you…" He looked gaunt and troubled. His face, usually kind and warm, reflected a certain kind of pain that Irina understood. She sat down on the bed next to him and looked for his hand.

"Is it true that my brother tried to help you?" she asked after a while.

Alain let out a sigh. "He did. Even though my group had attacked him, he… He tried to find a way to help us."

"Tell me about that," she asked gently. "I need some heroics right now."

She didn't press him. He didn't feel particularly compelled to speak. Her presence there didn't disturb him – if anything, he didn't feel so lonely. Grace was the only reminder of his life in Starkhaven, and sometimes he wondered whether escaping that Circle had been the right thing to do. Little by little, the words came out: his childhood and how tall the tower had appeared to him as a little child; the loneliness of being much younger and less able than the other apprentices; the group that had accepted him as long as he bowed down. The days he had spent in that cave, and then, Carver.

"When I saw him, I thought he was the most beautiful man that had ever existed. Eyes like the ocean, deep and free. I'd never felt attracted to anyone. Perhaps I felt that way because he was the hero that day. He lied for us, and he helped us escape." He looked at Irina sadly. "But there was little we could do. We were not accustomed to all that freedom, and we found ourselves trapped between the mountains and the sea. The Templars that found us… We didn't tell them that we were from Starkhaven. Only a few know about that. They believed we were from Ferelden, since they found us on the coast. And here… Things went back to the way they'd always been. The curfews, the walls; even the jailors," he murmured bitterly.

"But not all of them are the same," Irina said quietly. "Keran, for instance…"

Alain smiled weakly. "Keran… As soon as I saw him, I knew … He is the kindest person, and it is such a shame that he is a…" He swallowed his words and sighed tiredly.

"Keran mentioned he'd had an argument with you," Irina asked tentatively. "Is that why you have been unwell lately?" Alain shook his head. His lips trembled and his fingers twitched. "Whatever happened, know this: you are not alone. I will not leave you, Alain."

A hopeless sob escaped him. Timidly, he showed her his wrists; they been bandaged to cover the cuts that he'd made. He hid his face in shame. "He came to my room at night… He… did things to me. He told me…" He could barely speak now, but he was trying to overcome his fear. Irina waited. "He said that if I told anyone, he'd make me Tranquil."

"Who did?" she asked, unsettled.

"The Templar that caught us… Ser Karras." As he cried, she put her arms around him, trying to comfort him. She remembered Keran saying that Ser Karras was one of the Templars in the group that frowned upon his closeness to Alain.  _How hypocritical of them,_ she thought,  _to condemn their feelings and then do such a despicable thing._  She felt that a new sensation was taking over her. Pain would no longer be an issue.

But anger would.

* * *

It took Orsino some days to finally sit down and write the letter. He worded it carefully in case it fell in the wrong hands. He knew that he was running a tremendous risk. After Irina had been knocked down by the Templar, other mages had become bolder and now refused to be outnumbered by Templars in the Training Hall. It had been Irina who had managed to bring the dark-skinned mage out of his cell and reinsert him into the life of the Circle. He was nothing but grateful for her assistance, and he felt ashamed of what he was about to do, but what he'd seen couldn't be kept silent any longer.

A knock on the door startled him and he quickly stashed the letter in a pile of parchments. The Templar that had just come in looked at him suspiciously.

"First Enchanter, the Knight-Commander had ordered that this door remain open at all times."

"Had she? I thought it was only when I had visitors over," Orsino remarked.

"At all times," the Templar repeated. Orsino sighed.

"Very well. There is no point in arguing. Leave it open, then, and leave." The Templar hesitated. Orsino raised an eyebrow. "Are you to remain here while I am in my office?"

"No, First Enchanter," the man finally said.

"Well then, find your own way. Preferably one that doesn't meet mine," he muttered. Once the man had left, he hurried to seal the letter and walked out of the office.

"Orsino," a voice called from the room across from his. He went back on his footsteps and pasted a smile on his face.

"Knight-Commander," he bowed.

"If there is something you need from the city, a group will be leaving shortly." The blonde woman was not looking at him. She was studying some maps that the mage did not recognize.

"I thank you, but… I was on my way to the courtyard. I heard that Solivitus is expecting some new stock, and I was wondering if it had already arrived."

"Very well," she replied distractedly, and signaled him to continue walking.

Orsino maintained his composure as he climbed down the steps to the courtyard where the merchants sold their wares. The eyes of the Templars had been trained not to look at him closely, but he knew that they were watching all the same. As soon as he reached the herbalist's stall, he took the letter from inside his sleeve and gave it to the merchant.

"Please… If you see the Champion," Orsino asked, "give him this. There's something he needs to know…"

* * *

"Bullshit!" Isabela spat, kicking the man on the ribs. "We know that's not true! We saw the cargo, you bastard. Did you really think that we'd let you go that easily? There are children down there!"

"Where were you taking them?" Fenris asked, pressing the tip of his blade against the man's throat.

"N-N-Neromenian," the man finally said. "That's in–"

"Tevinter," Fenris snarled. "Who are you working for?"

"M-m-many people; I'm j-just a transp-porter. Nothing more than th-that… Please, I've got nothing ag-gainst those p-poor people…!" He looked up and saw Fenris's adamant face. "Believe me!" he screamed. "It wasn't even me who captured them!"

"Who did, then?" Isabela asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Tell us and you will live."

The man was far too terrified to notice her voluptuous body. "House Aurus… They hired Antivans like me because our ships are faster and lighter. I swear, I have a contract–!" No sooner had he moved his hand into his pocket than Isabela stepped on it, making him moan in pain.

"Stay still. I'll get it." The pirate found the parchment and read it quickly. She took a quick look at the man and then she gave the contract to Fenris. At first he took it uninterestedly, but when his eyes found a familiar name on it, he grabbed the man from the collar and picked him up.

"You filthy liar! Tell me who you are working for!" he demanded.

The man's terrified act was eventually dropped. "The slave who learned to read," he smirked. "Danarius will be pleased to see you have acquired a new skill. That is, if you don't forget it after he recaptures you and rebrands you."

"You don't want to mess with him," Isabela warned the man, who breathed in deeply and looked at them.

"He's coming after you, Fenris," the man said. "My little ship only had to buy him some time. Thanks to that last detour you took to capture me, he's closer than ever before."

Fenris growled and captured his throat in his hand. "I do not even need to press my fingers to kill you," he hissed. "You must know what I'm capable of doing, and why I'm so valuable to Danarius."

The man assessed his possibilities quickly. "You haven't killed me yet. Why?"

"Information," Fenris replied slowly. "His forces, the route he's taking, what he knows – everything."

The man let out a strained laughter. "Why? If I say something, you'll let me go?"

"Yes," he said, his green eyes fixed on the man's face. "I'll let you go."

"He's got a ship," the man replied quickly. "The  _Potentia._  He knows that you are friends with the man that is known as the Champion of Kirkwall. He's no fool to confront him over you, but if he has to, he'll follow you there."

"How many people?" Fenris asked, loosening his grip.

"A token force. No more than twenty," the man said, feeling more relaxed. "Including your sister."

Isabela's eyes went from the man to Fenris. For a brief moment she wanted to stop him from what she knew that he intended to do, but he was faster than ever before. His ghostly fist crushed the man's throat and the body fell to the ground like a dummy.

"There is no other choice. We have to go back to Kirkwall," he said, searching the body for the keys to free the cargo of slaves.

"But… Your sister–"

"There is no sister!" Fenris shouted. "Lies! A pathetic attempt to gain my sympathy!" He looked at her furiously. "I cannot wait for your Crow to return from wherever he went. I can no longer help you. Either you take me to Kirkwall in your ship, or I will book passage in another, but I  _will_  be sailing the Amaranthine tonight. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Isabela grumbled. She didn't feel like going back to certain responsibilities, but she knew that she owed him that much.

"Then let us be off now," Fenris grunted. Many things were stirring within him: fear, hope, frustration after such a long wait, and the image of the woman he would be returning to - the one he should never have left.

* * *

"I demand to see my sister!" Carver's voice was strained. He'd done his waiting for sixteen months, and it was easy to tell by the expression in his face that he had felt every single day.

"I wasn't aware that your sister had summoned you, Champion," Meredith replied, baffled.

"She hasn't, but I need to see her – I need to know that she's still alive."

"But… Of course she is! Why wouldn't she?"

Carver stared at her. "I received word that her physical integrity has been compromised," he said, trying not to sound like Orsino.

Meredith squinted. "Excuse me?"

"May I see my sister, please?" His look was almost murderous.

Meredith signaled the Templar that was guarding the door. "Fetch the Champion's sister," she commanded. The Templar returned shortly after accompanied by Irina, who was stunned to see her brother there.

"Carver…" she murmured as he hugged her. He kissed her forehead and held her in his arms.

"Irya, are you alright? Are they treating you well?"

Irina didn't reply. She cast a quick look at the Templar standing behind her brother. "What are you doing here? I didn't– I mean… Maker, I  _am_  glad to see you, but…"

"Irya," he said, gazing at her. "Listen to me. I need you to show me your hands."

Irina's eyes opened wide. She started to babble something, but Carver's steady look meant that somehow he knew what he'd find. Reluctantly, she removed the half-finger gloves and showed him her palms. The wounds had healed, but the scars were still there.

"Andraste's heart," Meredith murmured. "How did that happen to you, child? What is the name of her guardian, Karras?"

"I believe it is Keran, Knight-Commander," Ser Karras replied with a smirk. "Shall I fetch him?"

"Please do," Meredith replied icily. There was nothing that she hated more than being in a vulnerable position, especially in front of the person that could sway the nobles' opinion.

Irina shook her head. "No, it was me, I swear!" she hurried to say. "It was nobody's fault, but mine. I was careless…"

"Irya, please…" Carver looked at her sadly.

"You have to believe me," she pleaded. How could she tell him that Keran had been her greatest support in there, and that the Templar that had just gone out of the room was the most dangerous to her friends? "Carver, please…" She felt her voice choking.  _Not the tears,_  she thought;  _not again._

"May I speak to my sister in private?" Carver asked politely, even though his tone meant something else, a command that she recognized.

Meredith hesitated briefly, but she bowed her head and muttered, "Of course." She walked out of her own office and closed the door behind her. When she looked up, she saw Orsino watching her from his room, a content smile on his face. She raised her chin and walked towards his office slowly.

"Anything you need, Knight-Commander?" he asked, feigning innocence. "Was that the Champion in your office? It's the first time I have the chance to see him in person. Perhaps I should go and say hello…" Before he could get out of the room, however, Meredith blocked his path.

She stared at him with her ice blue eyes, assessing him. Finally, she said, "No more visits to the courtyard unaccompanied. No more visits from the families to your mages."

"But–" he began to protest, but she raised a finger.

"You think you're so clever, Orsino... From this moment, everything goes through me. Go back to your seat."

"Knight-Commander…" he said, taking a step towards her.

She took out the knife from her cinch. "Step back, mage," she spat. Orsino's green eyes were fixed on her face; she seemed to be both seething and reveling at the same time. Orsino sustained her look until she closed the door behind her, locking him in. He clenched his fists. No, what he had done hadn't had an adverse effect.

It had simply provided him with a reason to fight.

...


	18. Only

"I know it may be hard for you to understand this, Carver," Irina murmured. "But I genuinely do not wish to know about the child."

Carver's blue eyes pierced through her sister's grey ones. "That is unjustly cruel, and very unlike you. And it's not 'the child'," he hissed. "For the love of the Maker, you gave him a name!"

"He's yours now," she said quietly.

Her brother remained silent for only a brief moment. "What about Fenris?" he asked. "You say Sand is mine, but he's got a father out there."

"Where?" There was a flash of anger in her eyes. "Where has he been all this time? Why hasn't he come?"

Carver sighed. He rested his hands on the back of a chair and looked down. "I'm afraid he doesn't know…"

Irina gave him an incredulous look. " _What_ doesn't he know?" she asked.

"He never returned, Irya." Carver heard the silken fabric of his sister's robe rustling behind him. "You remember what the Qunari said… He left with Isabela."

"He could be injured. Danarius could have caught him. Anything could have happened to him!"

 _She still cares,_ Carver thought. _After all this time, in spite of her doubts, she still cares about him._ "I do not know," Carver said, shaking his head. "The last letter I received from him said that Isabela had finally managed to get rid of those who had been pursuing her."

"He wrote? But then…" Irina's voice suddenly sounded strained. "I must know, Carver. Even if the thought of his not caring hurts me… What did he say when you told him about me?" She rested her hand on her brother's arm.

Carver sighed. "I never replied." He gazed at his sister sadly. "I was too angry at what had happened to you, and I blamed him _–them–_ for you being here. I'm sor–" An open hand crossed his face. The sting of the slap surprised him. He covered his cheek with his hand and looked at Irina. Her face was red with an anger that he'd barely seen in all those years. Her lips were a thin line and her jaw was clenched so hard that he thought he could feel the grinding of the teeth. Her slender body exuded a kind of energy that he'd never felt before.

"How _dare_ you…" she whispered, her voice a spine-chilling hiss. "How dare you! It was my choice – mine! I did it for all of you! And I thought… I thought that he would come for me! I waited for him to come to see me! _For me!"_ Her lips were trembling with feelings and words long contained. "I thought that he had given up on me! You and your stubbornness, your misguided pride…! Do you have any idea, _any idea,_ what it feels like to be this lonely?" There were the tears, glistening at the corner of her eyes.

"I do!" Carver snarled. "Do you think that it was easy for me to leave you and Mother behind? Has it occurred to you that leaving was the only option I had? And Mother died," he cried out, "and I couldn't be there for her, or for you! So don't talk to me about being lonely, Irya, because I _do_ know what it feels like…"

Irina shook her head sadly. "Fenris… He was there for me, all the time. What we had..."

"I know what you had," Carver murmured after a while. "I have what you had at home, growing stronger every day. He is a healthy child, Irya..."

"Please, don't." Her voice was a gentle whisper now. "If I start thinking about him, about _them…_ How would I be able to bear the rest of my days in this place?"

There was a knock on the door. Irina wiped her tears and her face turned into a mask of politeness. Meredith stood there, looking at the siblings. "The Templar that harmed your sister will be punished accordingly, Champion," she said neutrally. "In the future, should you return, I will ask you to request an audience first."

Carver's deep blue eyes met Meredith's ice blue ones. He smirked. "Of course, Knight-Commander." He cupped his sister's face with his right hand and stroked her chin. "We'll meet again soon, sister."

* * *

"What did you tell them, child?" Thrask asked her when she was escorted back to her cell. "They've taken Keran away!"

Irina wrung her hands nervously. "It wasn't me, I swear! My brother said it was Orsino who let him know about my hands…"

"The First Enchanter?" Thrask raised an eyebrow. "But… Did Orsino ever ask you about your injuries?"

"No..." Irina shook her head. "Please, you have to believe me. It wasn't me who told him…"

Thrask kissed the young woman on the forehead and sighed. "I believe you. I know that you'd never try to get him in trouble. But if someone in our little group has been speaking… We'll have to be more careful." As he turned to leave, Irina said his name softly. He looked at her over his shoulder.

"I do not think that I'll be able to leave any time soon," she murmured. "I have the feeling that they'll keep an eye on me from now on, and I don't want any of you to be in trouble over me."

Thrask rubbed his forehead. "Are you saying we should let Emile walk the passage on his own? I am unsure as to how successful the release will be, then. He's been in the Circle all his life – I don't see him being inconspicuous. If you were to accompany him…"

"They'd know where to find us. And you know that if I were to leave this place, I wouldn't be able to stay away from my home for long."

"Did he tell you about the child?"

"I told him that I didn't want to know." Irina rubbed her arms, feeling the chill that ran down her arms every time she spoke or thought of her baby. "And I still don't… Not until I can hold him. Until that happens, to me he's only a dream I once had…"

"And the father?"

Irina's grey eyes steeled.

* * *

Sigrun woke up and felt that something was amiss. She sat up quickly and looked around. She counted the silent bulks on the bedrolls –only Oghren was snoring– and then peered at the fire. Stroud and Uthen were sitting side by side, waiting for the right time to change places with their companions.

She got on her feet and limped towards them. She'd been careless and had stepped on an ancient trap. The spikes had gone through the boot and scratched her skin. Even though she'd been healed, she felt that pretending that she was still in pain was the best course of action. Just as the Commander always seemed to be finding things for her to do, she had been injured more often than usual so as to secure Anders's presence there. If the healer knew that she was pretending, he'd never let it show. Sigrun was one of the few that talked to him; he didn't seem to be particularly interested in what the others had to say.

"Where's Anders?" she asked Stroud.

"He's in the chamber where we found the dragonlings," the warrior replied. "He mentioned something about a potion."

"I'm surprised to see you let him out of your sight," the dwarf replied, arching an eyebrow.

Uthen looked at her with his inscrutable blue eyes. "The chamber has only one gate. And we are not his guardians. If he wants to escape, he can do so. Less trouble with the Seneschal."

Sigrun scratched her head. "We cannot afford to lose anyone else. At least not until we've found Nathaniel."

"That sure makes me feel better," Stroud muttered.

"Bah." Sigrun shrugged and headed for the chamber. There were no Darkspawn in the vicinity, at least not that she could sense. She did, however, hear the song that Justice seemed to be singing. It was a low hum, something that could not be perceived by the common ear. It tugged at her heartstrings and made her so sad that she wondered how it was possible for Anders to put up with it and still be sane.

She found him crouching near a wall, scooping something carefully. "Whassat?" she asked casually.

Anders looked at her over his shoulder. "Drakestone. Deposits left by the dragonlings. I figured that, since I am here, I can collect some ingredients that are more… exotic."

"Ewww." Sigrun wrinkled her nose. "That smells as bad as the rotting Children! Do you remember those? It seems like a lifetime away…"

"It was during another lifetime, yes," the mage replied softly. Sigrun looked at him with pity. She'd never truly understood why Anders had given up his own life to pursue the course set by Justice. The few times that she had questioned him, he had deflected the subject with a joke. Asking the Seneschal was equally frustrating. The feud between the two men had started long before her time with the Wardens, and neither of them was keen on talking about it. "I suppose you don't want to help me?"

Sigrun blinked. "To collect the…? Well, I… Oh, I've dealt with worse things. Pass me one of the gloves."

* * *

The passage from the Amaranthine to the Waking Sea was unusually calm. Fenris stood alone on the deck, looking out over the water to the horizon. The sky was covered with purple-brown clouds, signaling the oncoming storm. He felt the coming and going of the sailors who were securing the cargo. He didn't move. His eyes were fixed on a place that he couldn't see, but that had been in his thoughts all those months.

He wondered why she had never replied. She probably had every reason to be mad at him, but he was confident that she would understand what had happened, and that she would forgive him for leaving her. He smirked when he realized that he was actually hoping for something. Years ago, he would have found that impossible; 'hope' had been a foreign feeling for him for such a long time that he had failed to recognize it at first glance.

Fenris remembered the ring that he had left for her and the promise he'd made. He'd told her that he would never leave her. He had failed. He'd told her that he wanted to talk to Gamlen about them. He'd run away before having the chance to do so. He grunted and banged his fist on the railing. _One good thing,_ he thought. _The one time that I find one good thing…_

"Three days," Isabela said behind him. "Unless the storm is vicious, we'll be there in three days, and you'll be able to have as much sex as you want."

Fenris scoffed. "It's not only the sex."

"Ah, but there _was_ sex!" She smiled.

He shook his head. "There is much more to us than our bodies together. We understand each other in ways that no other people can. We have the same nightmares."

"How romantic," Isabela said, arching an eyebrow, but Fenris just shrugged.

"She makes me fear," he said after a while.

"I don't think that's a good thing," the pirate noted.

"What I mean is that she makes me feel," Fenris said out loud. "Anger, fear, frustration, hatred – but also devotion; companionship, hope, passion…"

"Love?" Isabela asked, resting her hands on the railing.

Fenris looked at the dark waters separating them from the shore. "Love."

* * *

"Promise you'll take care?" Merrill asked after kissing her husband one last time.

"You know that I always return, woman; even if I'm not meant to do so," he replied confidently. Sebastian looked at both candidly. The day had finally come for him to ride back to his birthplace. Having the support of the Champion of Kirkwall had meant the backing of the nobles of Starkhaven as well. Months of rallying them, of coddling them; deals that he'd been forced to understand in such a short time... Going from Chantry hymns to rules and regulations, Sebastian had found himself in a new world that, oddly enough, suited him.

But above all, what had surprised him the most was Carver; in spite of his unsophisticated education, the young man was much more adept at dealing with people than he'd ever suspected. He was still no accomplished diplomat, but it was easy to see why he'd gained the favor of the people of the city. He was just as comfortable within the grand halls in Hightown as in the humble dwellings of Lowtown. Even the elves in the Alienage knew of him, thanks to his wife.

As they rode away, Sebastian asked, "Have you considered what we discussed?"

"The viscountcy? Something tells me that Meredith wouldn't be pleased," Carver chuckled.

"The Knight-Commander is only a servant of Kirkwall, just like the Viscount was, or Elthina is. You have sacrificed something precious in assisting the city. She should at least recognize that." When he noticed that Carver did not reply, he asked, "How is your sister?"

"Enduring," the Fereldan replied adamantly.

Sebastian knew when to stop talking.

* * *

"I'm telling you," Varric said, munching on a piece of fruit, "that's not the last we've seen from Charade. Smart lass, that one."

"Too smart, if you ask me," Aveline grunted. "It was a little too convenient that she reappeared now that Gamlen is back in Hightown."

"Bah – he's been there for ages. If she'd been interested in the money only, she'd have contacted him earlier. And I'm not sure that she would have gone along with that story of the gem. A bit of a time-waster, if you ask–" Varric fell silent at the sight of the woman standing at the door.

Aveline turned to look. Her face darkened as she stood up. "You…" she hissed, clenching her fist.

"Now, calm down, Captain…" Varric hurried to say, standing between both women.

Isabela remained unusually silent. It was difficult to read her thoughts. She parted her lips and with uncustomary softness, she murmured, "Aveline, I…"

"You what?" Aveline interrupted her. "Go on - entertain us with another lie. You are the most selfish person I've ever met. Do you know how many people died because of what you did?"

"I had no choice," the pirate replied softly.

 _"No choice?"_ Aveline scoffed. "You could have told me! You knew how deep into shit I was with the Qunari! This city was doomed from the moment you decided that you were more important than the rest of us! Who gave you the right, Isabela---?"

"Aveline, please…" The dwarf reached out to the Captain of the Guard, but she withdrew her hand.

"I can't do this, Varric," she muttered. "I want you out of the city; the sooner, the better. I'll have no more business with you." She stormed out of the room, leaving a silent Isabela standing there.

The pirate smirked bitterly. "Was it that bad, Varric?"

"I won't lie – it was shit, Rivaini. But it could have been much worse."

"I heard that Carver is Champion of this city now. At least that was… good, wasn't it?"

Varric sighed. He invited her to sit down and have a drink on him. "It was good, but I'm afraid the cost may have been a tad too high. Is the elf with you?"

"Fenris? Yes. As soon as we docked he went to Hawke's." She smiled briefly. "It was hard to see his puppy eyes for so long. He proved to be a good friend." She gazed at the dwarf. "I understand Aveline's anger. I just didn't figure that it would be that serious. I mean, yes, the Qunari are formidable warriors, but still…" She sighed. "I don't blame you for leaving that night. I was lucky enough to have Fenris by my side, and I may have saved his life too. Shall I tell you what really happened when I delivered the relic to Castillon?" She grabbed the tankard that Aveline had barely touched and sat back on her chair. She noticed Varric's silence. "What? Is there something wrong?"

Varric rubbed his forehead. "Rivaini… I'm not sure what will happen when Fenris reaches that place. Perhaps you really should get on that boat and get ready to sail away as soon as possible."

Isabela frowned. "Why? What else did I miss?"

* * *

Bodahn blinked at the sight of Fenris. "Messere, I'm sorry, but Mistress Hawke is not here. Lady Hawke is, however. You can speak to her." He closed the door behind the elf and beckoned him. Fenris wondered why the dwarven servant was being stealthier than usual. He followed him across the silent hall and into the study room. "Stay here. I will inform her of your presence."

Fenris looked around. Very few things had changed since he'd last been there. They had gotten rid of the harrowing statue that he'd never liked. He climbed the steps to the mezzanine. Her favorite armchair was still there. He remembered the vexed look in her eyes when he had confronted her about a possible union with Sebastian. For a moment he wondered if she was in the Chantry.

The door opened and closed very quickly. He leaned against the banister. "Merrill," he greeted the newcomer politely.

"Fenris," she replied, wringing her hands. "You're here."

"So it seems," he muttered. "Where's Irina?"

The elven woman tried to find the right words, but she gave up easily. "She doesn't live here anymore."

The words cut through him with a sting that he hadn't anticipated. Yes, he had thought that her marrying Sebastian was a possibility, but he had hoped… "Starkhaven?" he asked calmly, trying to conceal a broken heart.

Merrill stared at him with her big green eyes. "The Gallows," she finally said.

At first, it felt as if all sound had been removed, blocked by some kind of invisible barrier. Fenris's brow furrowed. Had she said…? No, that was impossible. Not her. Why would she do that?

"How?" he asked, still stunned.

Merrill breathed in deeply. "When the Qunari attacked, we helped Carver retake the city. The Templars and the Wardens were barely enough. The Knight-Commander saw us casting defensive spells when the Qunari tried to enter this house. Once it ended, Meredith… She said that she had to take us to the Gallows. Irina volunteered so that Anders and I could go free. Carver… The Wardens let him stay here, and I think it was because of her." She looked at Fenris sadly. "I'm sorry."

Anders, the abomination, and Merrill, the blood mage. _No._ Anders, her mentor, and Merrill, her brother's wife. It was easy to see why she had offered to go in their stead. But what would have happened if he had been there? Would she have left all the same? _No._ Never would he have allowed her to be taken. He would have grabbed her by the hand and run away. To the Void with the others.

"We read the letters," Merrill said apologetically. "Carver didn't want to reply because at that point, there was nothing you could have done. Only cause more trouble, I believe…"

"I need to see her," Fenris murmured, still shocked.

But Merrill shook her head. "You can't. Only the family can, and you need permission from Meredith herself to do so."

"What are you saying?" he asked, feeling more and more incapable of comprehending the situation. "That I will never see her again?"

"I'm sorry," Merrill repeated.

"No. No, no, no!" Fenris's fist collided against the marble fireplace. The pain was distracting; it was a reminder that he was still alive, that he could still put up a fight. He hadn't learned to live only to give up. "There must be a way. There is always a way!" he hissed, more to himself than to Merrill. His whole body was shaking with a feeling that was unknown to him.

"When you have calmed down, please join me in the garden. There's something that Irina left for you," Merrill sighed, closing the door behind her. If he wanted to destroy the study room, he could do so. She knew that if he wanted, he could blame her for Irina's absence – silently, she blamed herself, so he had every right to be mad at her. She rushed to the garden, where Macha was playing with the three children, and she waited.

When he went out of the house and onto the veranda, Merrill took Lysander in her arms and walked towards Fenris. His stunned look was telling. "I know. We were just as astonished as you are."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he murmured, looking at the black-haired child. When the child looked back at him, he recognized Irina's grey eyes. He took a step back and cast a quick glance at Merrill. "What is this?"

"As far as I know, it's a baby," Merrill replied, amused. "He'll be a year old soon. His name is Lysander. We call him Sand, or Sandy." When Fenris didn't reply, she added, "Irina named him. Some friends in the Circle smuggled him out. The Templars would have given him to the Chantry."

Fenris's green eyes scanned the baby's face, looking for a sign that said that the story Merrill was telling was true. He did not doubt Irina, but he could not understand how it had been possible. He felt no connection to the child, and he wondered why...

"Hold him," Merrill encouraged him.

"No, I…" The baby kept looking at him. Her grey eyes... Fenris felt the anguish of her loss for the first time. He shuddered and shook his head. "I don't think–"

"Elgar'nan!" Merrill exclaimed, forcing the child into his arms and letting go of him. Fenris caught him awkwardly and the child clung onto his cloak with his little hands. He stared at his father with a mixture of curiosity and fascination, as one of his fingers touched the markings on Fenris's chin.

Fenris blinked, waves of heat and cold washing over his body. The feeling was there; a sense of familiarity that he couldn't explain… "Lysander," he murmured, and the baby looked into his eyes, waiting.

"Babies imitate," Merrill said sagely. "He won't smile unless you do."

The baby stared at Fenris's mouth and touched it softly, letting out a sigh. Fenris waited until he had moved his hand away. "Hello," he said tentatively. Lysander cooed encouragingly. "Hello, Lysander," Fenris said. The child opened his eyes wide, taking in the voice of his father, and then sneezed. He looked so flustered that Fenris couldn't help but chuckle. The sound of his laughter caught the baby's attention, and the child smiled.

* * *

"I've heard that the Captain of the Guard brought Emile back."  
"And he was locked up as soon as he returned."  
"The fool... He should have run far from this city..."  
"Did you hear? They said that there's an elf in the courtyard..."  
"I've been told that he just stands there, waiting..."  
"For whom?"  
"He won't say, but he seems to be guarding the place..."  
"Every day, until the Templars shoo him away. Just standing there, in the sun and in the rain..."  
"Well, he'll be waiting for a long time. None of us is coming out any time soon."

* * *

"Are you sure that you want to return to Kirkwall?" Nathaniel asked him, even though he was perfectly aware that Anders's will would not waver. "Having a Templar in charge of the city… Won't that be dangerous?"

"For me? Or for them?" Anders sneered. "I can be a reasonable man."

"'Reasonable' is not the word I would use to describe you." He watched the mage mount his horse. "Anders… You can return with us. Gwyn can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he's always meant well."

Anders breathed in deeply. "I don't recall a time in which we've seen eye to eye, to be honest. I can barely remember what he looked like when he came to the Circle, or why we always disagreed so much. But he's not the reason I escaped, and he won't be the reason why I'll stay away from Amaranthine."

Nathaniel's eyes gazed at his friend sadly. "Whatever you do… Promise that this won't be the last we'll be seeing of you."

Anders looked down at his friend. "Can you promise the same? Volunteering for these suicidal missions… And at your age," he smirked.

"Oi, we're the same age!" Nate replied, trying to take the moment lightly.

Anders shook his head and looked away. "You have been a good friend, Nathaniel Howe. Better than I deserve." He held the reins in his hands firmly and galloped away.

"Do you think we'll see him again?" Sigrun asked quietly.

Nathaniel watched him leave until he was out of sight. "No," he answered with a sigh, and then returned to the camp.

* * *

Irina opened her eyes, feeling that there was someone standing outside her cell. For a moment she thought of Keran, but the young Templar had been dismissed from the Order. Thrask? Perhaps, but it felt different. Her mind still in a befuddled state, she tried to focus. Four beings. Thrask was one of them, but the others…

 _Blood magic._ The words appeared in her head and she held her breath. She closed her eyes and clutched her blanket. She heard the clanking of the iron lock, and the door creaking as it was opened.

 _Don't breathe, don't move,_ a voice inside her chanted. _They won't see you._ But they would. Of course they would. They had entered her cell only for her. She felt the familiar binding of blood magic swirling around her, and before she could scream, a low hiss filled her ears. Her eyes tried to make out the face that was hiding behind the cowl, but there was a darkness there that she could not slip into. A quiet whimper caught her attention, and she saw Alain's sad eyes standing behind the shadowy figure.

"Grace…" he whispered. "Let's reconsider this…"

"There's no way back, Alain," Thrask replied instead. "None of us is safe now, and you know it. Our only hope is to negotiate with the Champion, and for that we need her out of here." He walked towards Irina and looked at her sadly. "I'm sorry, my child."

 _This is not the way,_ Irina wanted to say, but the air thickened with blood, and then she saw no more.

...


	19. Silver Blue

Only when he had made sure that the pillows were positioned correctly did Fenris allow himself to relax. He lay on his side and watched the dark-haired child sleeping next to him. His tiny mouth was slightly open, and he remembered that night that Irina had healed him, and how she had fallen asleep with the very same expression in her face: absolute peace. He gazed at his son's dark eyelashes and sighed at the memory of his mage.

It was so strange to have a reason to live other than mere survival. He had imagined that upon his return things would be different, that Irina would be there for him. He'd thought that, should Danarius find him, she would be able to defend herself: he would make sure of that, even if he had to burn like the sun to protect her.

But now he was alone.

She was so close and yet beyond his reach. She wasn't there, but she'd left behind something that was theirs: a physical reminder that there had been something between them, that hope was still there. He'd been given something to care for – something as impossible as precious. She'd given him a future.

And now that he had one, he would protect it with his life.

His fingers found the chain around his neck. He'd always despised the feeling of links on his skin – a remnant of his life in Minrathous. He was sleeping in her room now, and Merrill had confessed that Irina had seen the ring. Knowing that he was possibly holding the last thing that she had touched before leaving home that day made him feel somewhat closer to her. He looked at the ring dangling from it. _Someday,_ he thought.

* * *

Meredith barged into Orsino's office. "Where is she?" she asked in a dangerously low voice.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Knight-Commander," Orsino frowned. "Where's who?"

"Don't play the innocent part, mage. The Champion's sister!"

"Irina? But… She can't have disappeared." He stood up. "People don't just vanish."

"Oh really? Because it seems that lately your people have acquired a tendency to become lost."

"You would think so, wouldn't you? Yet it is your people that bar us behind those doors. _They_ are the ones who watch the corridors at night. If you must lay the blame on someone, why don't you start with those that are closer to you?"

"How dare you accuse the Order–!"

"Not the Order!" Orsino made a pause, wondering if he should speak his mind. "Are you that blind that you cannot see your own people plotting against your beliefs? Look at me in the eye and tell me that every single one of those Templars out there is loyal to you!"

"It is not a question of personal loyalty!" she replied. "They've got a duty to fulfil, and they will do it, however harsh some methods might seem to those that haven't suffered the dangers of magic."

"So you _are_ admitting that your methods–!"

" _My_ methods? Why don't we discuss those mages that the Captain of the Guard had to kill because they turned into abominations?" Meredith crossed her arms over her chest. "It is your turn to look into my eyes and tell me that blood magic has never been used in the Circle!"

"Where do you not see blood magic?" he scoffed. "Yes, some may have knowledge of it – I can't keep track of all the things that many of these mages knew before coming here! Ferelden! Starkhaven! Ostwick! Their Circles burn and they all come here. I can only vouch for those that have been here since I took over!"

There was a knock on the door. Knight-Captain Cullen stood outside the room, looking in uncomfortably. "Knight-Commander, there is something I must discuss with you."

Meredith tore her eyes off Orsino's and reluctantly followed Cullen into her office. The elven mage let out a strained sigh and rubbed his face. She would never understand… He remembered Knight-Commander Guylian, and how Templars and mages had once had an easier relationship. Everything had started changing since the Grand Cleric had appointed Meredith. But lately…

If the Champion's sister had escaped, then the Champion had to know. If he were the one to tell him… Maybe he would finally get the full support of the most influential figure in the city. He took his staff and cautiously walked out of his office, towards the docks.

* * *

"I take it things didn't go as well as you had planned?" Merrill asked, her eyes darting from Carver to the Prince of Starkhaven.

"On the contrary: they went much better than we had thought," Sebastian said with a warm smile. "Your husband has been an invaluable helping hand in all this matter, and I am already looking for ways to repay my debt to him."

"It wasn't that much," Carver said, stretching. After the ride back, he felt stiff and more tired than usual. "Varric helped a lot with his letters to the Guild in your city."

"True. The commercial ties between Kirkwall and Starkhaven have never been stronger. I should buy our good dwarf something to celebrate. And to you, dear Hawke, my full support to claim the viscountcy – that is, when you finally decide to talk to the Knight-Commander about it. That's the reason I came back," he explained to Merrill. "I would like to talk to Elthina about it. I am certain that she will agree with me."

"We'll see. As I've said before countless times, I don't think that Meredith will approve that easily. How is everything here, love?" Carver said, kissing his wife on the forehead. "Where are our little ones?"

"About that… Well…" Merrill stood in front of her husband. "There is something you must know…"

Carver raised his eyebrows. "Did something happen while I was away? They are in good health, aren't they?"

"Oh, yes! That they are! Well… It's not really about Inan, it's…"

"Something happened to Sand?" Carver held Merrill by the shoulders. "Where is he?"

" _Ma vhenan,_ he's fine. He's with… Well… Promise you won't get mad…?" she whimpered.

"Merrill, speak!"

"She means to say," Gamlen said, leaning against the door frame, "that the child is in the garden, with his father and that pirate."

"Gamlen!" Merrill exclaimed.

"You were too slow, sweetheart. If there is something you should know about your husband is that the more you delay the news, the worse he'll take them. Am I wrong?" Gamlen's grey eyes looked amused when they landed on his nephew.

Carver clenched his fists and rushed to the garden, followed by the others. As soon as he came out to the veranda, he was greeted by the merry cooing of Lysander, who was playing with Fenris, and his daughter's giggle as she was chased by Isabela.

"Papa!" Inan squealed as she ran to her father. Carver picked her up and strode heavily towards the pirate, who stood her ground.

"Before you say anything," she said, raising a finger, "you must believe me when I say that I did not foresee any of the things that happened after I found that relic. There was no way for me to know that the Templars would be involved, or that Irina would–"

"Do _not_ talk about my sister!" Carver hissed. Inan looked over his shoulder and reached out for her mother, scared. Merrill took her in her arms and stepped back. "How could you not–!"

"Ask for help?" Isabela said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Aveline has already given me that speech. Varric offered me to hide in his room at the Hanged Man until all of you had forgotten about what I did. But I'm the one who won't forget it. Especially because that fellow over there," she pointed to Fenris, "will not let me forget."

"You're damn right I won't," Fenris droned, picking up his child and facing Carver. When Lysander saw his uncle, he wiggled his legs and reached out for him. Carver swiftly crossed the steps that separated them and took the child from Fenris's arms.

"Now dear," Merrill said with a trembling voice. "Remember what we talked…? Sandy is Fenris and Irina's, not ours."

"I know," Carver muttered reluctantly as he nuzzled the baby. Fenris was leaning against the banister of the veranda, watching the two of them.

"At least you could have answered my letters, considering that you felt entitled to read them even though they were not addressed to you," Fenris said nonchalantly. Carver rolled his eyes at his wife.

"Merrill…" he groaned.

"These are our friends, Carver." The elf let her child on the ground and walked towards her husband. "They are our clan," she smiled. "And we all have made bad decisions at least once, haven't we? I could have become an abomination, you let your guard down and got tainted; Varric always wears those strange shirts, and Sebastian's got Andraste's face on his crotch…"

"Oi! Again with that? Give it a rest!" Sebastian murmured, blushing.

Carver shook his head and smiled. " _Ma'arlath,_ Merrill," he said, making her blush. She kissed him and patted his arm. Carver sighed and stood before Fenris.

"For what it's worth… I believe that you wouldn't have let them take Irya," he admitted. He kissed the baby, who was frowning while rubbing his hand against his uncle's stubble, and unwillingly returned him to his father.

"I _would_ have taken her away. I am not sure that you would have been content with that resolution either," Fenris said, looking at Sebastian over Carver's shoulder, "considering the plans that you once had for her."

"I would never go against Irya's wishes," Carver replied. "I may have thought that Sebastian was a better option for her. But I suppose that her heart had already made a choice when the marriage question presented itself. And after all she's been through… I only want her to be happy, you know?" he finished, stroking Lysander's hand with his thumb. The child had wrapped his fingers around Carver's index and was cooing once again. He turned to Isabela, scowling. "As for you, I really don't–"

"Messere," Bodahn interrupted him, out of breath. "There is a commotion outside. A mage and some Templars, at the square right before the passage to the barracks."

"Thank you, Bodahn. I'll take a look. Sebastian?"

"I'm right behind you, Hawke."

Fenris left Lysander in Isabela's arms and followed the two men onto the street. It didn't take them long to figure out what was happening.

"Mages are not to be feared!" Orsino was shouting. "But they do not understand us, and thus they lock us up because it is easier to do so than to use reason! We are mortals, just like everyone else! We bleed, we suffer; we are born and die just like the rest of you. And it is your brothers and sisters, your own sons and daughters, who are now enduring the abusive treatment of the Templars!"

"Are they now?" Meredith cried. "Perhaps it is only the Order that is saving those same sons and daughters from their own kind. You have allowed blood mages to walk free, when it is your duty to oversee your so-called brethren! Should I let the rogue mages run rampant? Will you understand my position only when the body count is sky high?"

"You cannot judge us all in that light! And can you honestly lecture me on keeping an eye on my own?" Orsino questioned. "It is your own Order that abducts mages and taints Templars, hungry for power! Face it, Knight-Commander: you are more concerned about ruling this city than controlling your precious Templars, and governing is not your duty! Let nobility rule the city!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Carver asked. Silence befell the square, and the only voices that could be heard murmured the name of the Champion. "Why have you brought your argument here?"

"That is what I'd like to know myself, Champion," Meredith said quickly, walking towards Carver. "The First Enchanter should know better by now that this is obvious treachery–!"

"I came here because the people of Kirkwall need to know the truth!" Orsino exclaimed. "Someone must listen to reason, Champion. Our mages–!"

"–need to be under vigilance, and by the Maker, I intend to do that, whatever it takes." Meredith interrupted him. She was about to continue speaking when Carver raised his hand.

"There is no need to threaten anybody," he said.

Fenris was watching the scene when a shudder ran down his spine. He was being observed. He scanned the faces in the crowd, but everybody's eyes were set on the argument between Carver and the other two. He caught a glimpse of a hooded figure disappearing among the mass and he hurried to follow them. His skin tightened the way it used to do when he sensed danger, but he felt unusually calm. It wasn't until he'd caught up with the cloaked figure that he realized why he hadn't thought of them as a real threat.

"Anders?" he called. The figure stopped and turned to him. "Why are you running away?"

Anders didn't reply, but Fenris was able to see that there was a familiar silvery light coming from him, and that the mage's eyes were uncommonly blue. No, it wasn't that uncommon. Fenris still remembered what it was like when Justice took over. He grabbed the mage by the arm and led him aside.

"She gave herself up so that you would walk free, and you have _returned?"_ Fenris hissed. "Why?"

"I have a plan to get her out of the Gallows, and it is one that I must see to the end. I have a... formula for that place."

"What do you mean 'a formula'? A scheme?"

Anders smiled quietly. "A way to make people see. The First Enchanter is right – the people of Thedas do not need to suppress or control their fear of us: they need to give us a chance. They need to understand us, not run away from us." His eyes were amber once more.

"You ask for a great deal. Not every mage can be trusted," Fenris grunted.

"Nor every Templar," Anders replied. Fenris was about to answer when the commotion caught their attention once more.

"Why not let the Champion rule?" Sebastian was asking, and the crowd had started to cheer. Meredith shook her head.

"A Grey Warden? This is not Ferelden. Just because one took over the throne overseas… And 'Champion' is merely an honorary title. Do not deceive yourselves," she stated.

"Deaf and blind," Orsino exclaimed. "Do you see, Champion? The Knight-Commander refuses to see reason. How are we supposed to sit down and talk to a person that won't see truth other than in her own words?"

"That is enough, mage!" Meredith commanded. "You have come here merely to incite rebellion, and you fail to see that it is the people of this city that needs protection!" she turned to the guards behind her. "Take him back to the Gallows!"

"No!" Orsino shouted. "Champion, your sister–!" His arms were clapped in irons and one of the Templars silenced him.

Fenris felt Justice stirring inside Anders. He was just as shocked as the mage was, but he managed to hiss, "Don't be stupid! We need to know what he means…"

Meredith's face was livid with rage. "So _that_ is why you are here, then! This is treason, Orsino! This I will not forget!"

The crowd parted to give way to the Grand Cleric, who had obviously been warned about the confrontation. "Orsino…" the grey-eyed woman said. "This is not wise. Fire only brings about fire. The temperance of the spirit could never fan the flame. Be patient and the Maker shall see."

"How can she say that?" Anders muttered. Fenris found himself grudgingly agreeing with him, though he would never say it out loud. He was more interested in knowing why the First Enchanter had mentioned Irina.

"Take him back to the Gallows _gently,_ " she said to the Templars. "No need for irons. And Meredith…"

"Your Grace!" Meredith protested.

"You too. Return to the Gallows, like a good girl–" she started to say, but she was interrupted.

"Now wait a minute. What about my sister?" Carver asked. "Orsino, what happened to Irina?"

"Your sister is gone, Champion," the First Enchanter replied softly. The silence imposed by the Templars had drained most of his energy. "She was taken."

"We do not know that," Meredith admitted reluctantly. "We are investigating. Men, take the First Enchanter back to the Gallows. I will talk to the Captain of the Guard." She blatantly ignored Carver, who seemed to have been rooted to the spot, and bowed before Elthina before walking up the steps.

Sebastian rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I do not know what to say, Hawke. I am sorry. If there is anything I can do…"

"Sebastian," Elthina called with a smile. "Were you planning to come by the Chantry and say goodbye to this old friend?"

Carver felt the hand slipping away. He was barely aware of the people moving about or the whispers that came from them. _"The Champion should rule the city." "Please, Champion; only you can stop this madness…" "I have a sister in the Circle, like you. Please, help the mages…"_ A hand grabbed him by the forearm. He looked up and saw Fenris saying something. He frowned.

"We need to find her!" the elf was saying. Carver frowned.

"I don't know…" A jolt of electricity ran through his body – too light to cause harm but powerful enough to make him focus. He looked around and saw Anders's face beneath the hood. "What are  _you_ doing here?"

"He says that he has a plan to get Irina out of the Gallows," Fenris replied. "The trouble is that she is no longer there."

"We must find her before the Templars do," Anders said hurriedly. "She must not return to the Circle."

"Well, if you have any ideas as to where to start, I'd love to hear them now," Carver scoffed. "They don't even know it themselves, and I doubt that the Templars will cooperate willingly."

Fenris frowned. "The Templar that took Lysander out of the Gallows…"

Carver's eyes opened wide. "Keran! Macha should be home now! Perhaps she can ask him about it!"

As they rushed back to the house, Anders asked, "Who is Lysander?"

* * *

"Why did you do it, Keran?" Carver asked sadly.

"I only secured safe passage for all of them, that's all," the ex-Templar replied. "They had a fair point. They knew that once you'd found out about it, you would go after her. They needed you to listen…"

"Abducting someone is not the right way to make people listen!" Fenris barked.

"If I had been there, I would have done it differently, serah!" Keran shouted back. He rubbed his face and sighed. "Listen… All I could do from the outside was to try to keep them safe – mages and Templars… They're working together. Not everyone agrees with Meredith's regime, whatever it may look from the outside. You'll have to trust Thrask. He means well."

"Thrask? That name sounds familiar…" Carver said.

"Wasn't he the Templar that asked you for help with the mages from Starkhaven?" Anders asked.

"The same," Keran nodded. "He leads a group of five people. Trust me, they would not hurt her. Alain, my… One of the mages is watching over her."

"Where did they take her?" Carver asked impatiently.

"The Wounded Coast." Keran marked a location in his map.

"Perhaps Isabela could take us there more swiftly," Fenris suggested, but Carver shook his head.

"The horses will do. I'd rather not owe her any favors."

Fenris stood before him. "Listen to me," he grunted. "I should be furious at her for what she did, even more than you. But if there is a chance that we can find Irina as soon as possible, I will not waste it. You can ride your horse all you want another day. But today, getting to her is all that matters. So leave aside that simple-minded pride of yours and ask her for help!"

Carver was aware that Anders's eyes were going from one man to the other. He turned to the mage, who shrugged and said, "He may be right this time."

"I guess I should be grateful for small mercies," Fenris said sarcastically.

"You can be pretty narrow-minded yourself, so I guess that you recognize it quite well when others suffer from the same malady," Anders replied, crossing his arms.

Carver rolled his eyes. "Maker," he sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. We'll ask Isabela to take us there."

* * *

She had been blindfolded for so long that she wasn't sure where she was anymore. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks told her that they were on the coast. The sun on her skin; the smell of salt, sand, and blood… She had to rely on her senses – all but one: touch. The blood binding was still active, and the only reason why she hadn't struggled was standing nearby. Alain had taken care of her, whispering promises in her ear. If she kept calm, everything would be easier. Carver would be there for her soon.

Her consolation came in the form of a silent prayer – to keep the demons at bay, to remember those that were no longer there. Her lips could not move, but her mind had found a way to retreat back to a safe place where she could wait patiently. The words of the Chant did not come easily. She could only grasp some feelings or ideas that she had whenever she heard it. She remembered Sebastian's voice and the comforting words that he had uttered after her mother's death. There had never been words for Bethany.

Her spirit shielded her. Anders had instructed her in many things, but it had been the Seneschal who had taught her about the importance of protecting oneself against that kind of foul magic. He had developed his own kind of litany –something that Anders had dismissed and called 'his poor excuse of a happy place'– and Irina found herself resorting to it.

She was lost in contemplation when she sensed their presence. Carver's lifeforce was embrium red, swirling around a dark core. Justice was there as well; a cold-hearted force that set ablaze the blood that was now thickening the air and threatening to drown them…

And then she saw _him._ Her lyrium ghost, her silver-blue sun, was coming towards her, felling the Shades that had been summoned by the demon that had consumed one of the mages. Things had not gone according to plan.

Irina felt Alain's arms around her, holding her from behind, and his voice in her ear. _Do not be alarmed,_ he was whispering. She didn't understand. She struggled to free herself, but it was Alain's blood that was holding her now. The binding was not restrictive: it was protective, and she knew that she only had to wait a little longer.

* * *

He could feel the draw that her energy had on him. Always her body, always her spirit. Even though there seemed to be powerful dark magic surrounding her, he could still feel her. The closer he got to her, the more confident he became. His markings felt as if they were about to tear him apart, but he could live with that kind of pain. He knew that he would be able to endure anything if it meant that his mage would be safe. _My mage,_ he told himself over and over again, as his sword cut through the spirits of the Void. _My mage._

When the last one had been taken down, he breathed out and let his sword fall on the sandy ground beneath him. His weapon did not matter anymore. He saw the mage standing behind her mutter something, and then he saw her move, ever so slowly. Her hands took off the blindfold over her eyes and she struggled to see. But then…

She was scrambling to her feet, hurrying to where he was standing. He ran towards her and stumbled, falling on his knees before her. Her arms surrounded him and time resumed its natural flow.

"I thought you'd never return!" Irina cried, holding him tight. "I thought…!"

"I told you that I would," Fenris said between kisses. His hands squeezed her, as if they were making sure that she was actually there, and that she was not the phantom that had haunted him all that time. "Always." His words, however, would not stop her tears, and he kissed her cheeks and forehead repeatedly. "I'm here now, love," he whispered in her ear. "I'm here." He cupped her face in his hands. "Look at me," he murmured, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm here now…"

She nodded and a sob escaped her. "I am so sorry…" she said in a low voice.

"There is nothing to be sorry about, love," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers, feeling her warmth and the softness of her skin on his fingertips. He gave her an elusive smile. "Lysander…" he said. "There are no words…"

She smiled through her tears. "Is he fine? Is he loved?"

"By all," he reassured her. "But by none more than me."

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. "That's all I wanted to know."

He pressed his lips against hers and he felt her breathe out slowly, as if the weight of those months apart had been lifted from her. Her hands kept him close, and for a moment it was just the two of them.

They heard someone clearing their throat. "I hate to interrupt," Anders said, "but we should get going. If we're going to keep her away from the Gallows, we have to get to Isabela's ship as quickly as possible."

Irina gave Fenris one last kiss and then ran to her friend. Anders held her tightly.

"You… You should be far from here," she said.

"I've already told him so," Fenris droned, seeing that Carver had decided to talk to the mage that had been holding his sister.

"There are matters I must attend to in Kirkwall," Anders replied. "But first, we have to finish this."

Irina turned to Carver. "I knew you would come for me," she said, slipping her delicate hand into her brother's big one.

"I'm sorry that this didn't end well for them. Thrask… He was a good man," Carver replied, kissing his sister's hair.

Her grey eyes focused on the other mage. "Alain… You could come with us."

But Alain shook his head. "If I am going to be a free mage, I should be allowed to stay close to the one I love," he replied.

Irina smiled. "Keran will be pleased to see you out of the Gallows, I'm sure."

As Fenris and Anders started their descent to the shore, they spotted the Templars coming towards them. The elf noticed that the mage seemed unable to control Justice for long, since as soon as they had come closer, the spirit within had seeped through the energy cracks that covered his skin. He turned around to warn Carver and Irina, but the siblings had already seen the oncoming troop. Fenris noticed that Irina's eyes looked sad.

"No…" He took her by the hand and kissed her. "We _will_ escape."

She smiled wistfully and shook her head. "Not today, love," she whispered.

"You cannot surrender!" Anders exclaimed. "Not now!"

"And if I don't, what happens?" she questioned him. "Do we kill them all? Do we run away, fugitives as well as murderers?" She held Fenris's hand and kissed it. "This is not a battle that we can win today."

"For the love of the Maker, listen to him!" Carver shouted.

"I will _not_ risk your lives," she stated adamantly. She turned to Fenris. "Promise me–"

"No," the elf protested weakly, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around her.

"Fenris…" Her voice was gentle, as it had always been. From the very beginning, she had tried to soothe him, to comfort him. But he didn't want to be protected.

"Irya…" he whimpered softly, giving her a sad look. The kiss she gave him had a bittersweet taste – so close, and yet so far…

"Champion." Knight-Captain Cullen greeted Carver. "I am glad to see that you have found your sister alive and well."

"The same cannot be said for the mages and Templars that took her," Carver replied bitterly. Cullen raised an eyebrow.

"I see," he replied. He took a look at Alain. "I assume you have spared this one with an ulterior motive? Questioning, perhaps? Or did he have a miraculous change of heart?"

"He was the one who kept my sister safe," Carver answered. "He could have easily joined the others, but he never gave in, not even when his own life was in danger."

Cullen studied the mage carefully. "I will suggest that he be left alone, although the Knight-Commander might want to know more about the origin of this plot." His eyes turned to Irina almost with pity. "As to your sister…"

"I understand, Knight-Captain," Irina smirked. She let go of Fenris's hand, but she wasn't surprised when he still held onto hers.

"Wait," he asked. He fished for something inside his armor, and Irina saw that he was wearing the chain and the ring that he had gotten for her. He passed the chain over her head, letting the ring rest on her chest. "It's a promise," he murmured, his fingers entwined with hers. "Do not forget."

"Never," she smiled as she stroked his cheek one last time before the Templars escorted her and Alain back to the boats.

Fenris watched them leave until they were out of sight. He turned to Anders and snarled, "So much for your plan to rescue her." He noticed that the mage had been containing himself, and he realized that he had done so for Irina's sake.

"If I could have kept her with us, I would have done so," Anders replied, a touch of desolation in his voice. "This was not my plan. I was merely playing along the circumstances. But I still need her out of there, Fenris." His amber eyes flashed blue for a brief moment. "And you will help me with that."

Fenris doubted. There was something in Anders's voice that made him wary. But the image of Irina appeared before his eyes, and he knew that he had no other choice but to cooperate.

...


	20. Naked

The door closed behind her and she stood in the middle of the room. She was aware that Cullen was still there, but under Meredith's stare, she might as well be alone. The Knight-Commander had a way of making her feel that she was up to no good, and she had the slight suspicion that the fact that her brother was the now-fabled Champion of Kirkwall did not help.

The questions darted out of Meredith's mouth in quick succession. Had she truly been oblivious to the plot that had been made behind her back? Did Irina know why she, of all mages, had been targeted? Had she been enthralled by Grace or Alain? What role had Thrask had on the scheme? One after the other, Irina answered all her questions; always taking a little time to think about the proper response, always holding her hands together demurely, always looking down and speaking in a low voice.

' _Kill them with kindness',_ Bethany used to say when other people treated them as nothing more than wanderers. Irina pondered what Bethany's role would have been if she'd been in her place. She would have joined Anders, probably, and been an advocate for the mage plight. And if she'd known Fenris? She would have butted heads with him, no doubt.

"Enchanter?" Meredith called her. Irina looked up, startled, and then her eyes looked down again. She blushed.

"Forgive me, Knight-Commander," she said weakly. "It feels like the end of a very long day, and I am exhausted. But I will try to answer to the best of my ability."

"Perhaps it would be better if this questioning were to be resumed tomorrow?" Cullen ventured, earning him an arched eyebrow from Meredith. She stared at him for a brief moment –those ice blue eyes that could pierce through anything– and then nodded slowly.

"Escort her back to her cell, and bring in the other mage," she commanded.

"Alain is still in the dungeons," Cullen replied softly. "But I will summon his warden."

Irina tried to suppress a shudder. Poor Alain – his only fault had been to be surrounded by the wrong people. She wondered if that was what Fenris had seen in Tevinter: mages pushing each other to extremes for the sake of status. But this was different. This was about freedom. And yet, she couldn't help but think of those that had taken a turn for the worse: the mage that had killed her mother, the one that had tried to convert Keran… Perhaps Fenris was right, and there was no way to know which was which until their mettle was tested.

But for that, something needed to happen - something strong enough, big enough, to bring to light those that were worthy of salvation, and to banish those that only wanted chaos.

* * *

"Keran… If we want to get the two of them out of there, we will need those names." Carver was sitting across the ex-Templar at the Hanged Man, the only place where they felt safe enough to discuss that question. "Besides, you are not a member of the Order anymore. It cannot hurt–"

"You are not a Warden anymore, and still you wouldn't reveal their secrets so easily. Neither of you," he said, looking at Anders.

"I am not particularly loyal to the Wardens," he shrugged. "And sadly, I must say that some loyalties are overestimated. At the end of the day, the only thing that counts is who is willing to step into action when something matters."

"Such a friend…" Carver muttered with a smirk. He turned to Keran. "This guy here was willing to kill me when I got tainted in the Deep Roads."

"It would have been to spare you from a much worse fate," Anders replied. "The greatest kindness you can offer a person is to do that for them."

"You make it sound so easy that it is almost scary," Fenris grunted.

"Like you are one to talk," Anders retorted. "You have more blood on your hands than any of us."

"Only because you mages do not need to cut through a person to kill them," Fenris grunted. "It is well known that you can steal someone's life away by forcing a demon into them. That is much crueler than what I do."

"Is that the kind of pillow talk that you had with Irina?" Anders replied slyly. "I'm sure she was _thrilled_ to hear of your hatred for her kind…"

"That's enough, Anders," Carver said, raising a hand. He could see Fenris's anger starting to boil and he wanted to avoid a confrontation between those two for as long as possible. "We're here to help each other, not to bicker."

"Agreed," the mage said. "Irina is what matters."

Keran sighed. "Well, I can't go any lower, can I?" He looked at Carver. "Just… Promise me that you'll continue to support my sister. It is hard enough for me to make ends meet in this city unless it's working at the docks, and there's just too many of us in the same situation there…"

Carver gazed at him with his deep-blue eyes. "Macha and the child will never have need of anything that money can buy; that I can promise."

Keran rubbed his hands nervously. Finally, he said, "Give me some parchment and I'll make a list of names and how to recognize them."

Fenris and Anders breathed out, relieved. The elf leaned against the wall of Varric's room and closed his eyes. Soon, they'd be together again. Having seen her, even though it had been for the briefest of moments, had reminded him of all those years that they had spent getting to know each other. It had been a slow wooing – he'd come to trust her, to care for her, and he wasn't able to tell which of the two had been the first to take a step forward and express what they felt. He almost snorted at the thought of that. He, the runaway slave, had fallen in love with a mage, and there was a child in the middle. And now he was involved in a plan to aid mages. He shook his head. How bizarre...

As he looked away, he saw Anders staring at him. "What is it?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"Can't you hear it?" Anders asked quietly.

Fenris stood straight and listened. "It's quiet down there," he replied.

"Quiet. The tavern," Anders said.

Fenris broke in a cold sweat that seemed to cling to him like the horror of what he had forgotten. In his eagerness to see Irina, to break her out of the Gallows, he had forgotten the main reason why he'd left Kirkwall or traveled around the continent in the first place.

He was barely aware of Anders standing by his side. The feeling at the pit of his stomach had become unbearable, and he knew that the moment had come. He had come to that city partly hoping that he could escape the life that he'd had in Minrathous, but another part had always been eager to eliminate that fear from his life once and for all. Now he realized that Irina would be safe, but what of the child…?

"What's going on?" Carver asked, standing behind them. Fenris didn't reply; his mouth was dry and his throat felt as if it was on fire. It was Anders who answered.

"The silence. It is unnatural."

Carver eyed the mage. "You are glowing," he let him know.

"I know. Can't you smell it?" Anders questioned with a hollow voice.

"Smell what?" Carver asked.

"The blood…" Fenris murmured. He licked his lips quickly. He'd been such a fool… He'd lost sight of the one thing that had mattered for so long. "He's here..." He turned to Carver. "Danarius is here."

It was in that moment that they understood why he was a Champion to the people of Kirkwall. It wasn't merely a title – he had worked for it when it counted and actually earned it. He stood tall, rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, and passed by them, walking down the steps that led to the main hall of the tavern. He was willing to meet whoever was down there first.

What he found was not what he had expected. Varric was being held by two guardsmen. His face looked bruised and he seemed to be shaken, but other than that, there was a certain feeling lingering there: the sensation that if he was let out of sight for a moment, he'd reach back to Bianca and kill them all. He gave Carver and his companions a jaded look.

"I had to tell them," he croaked when he saw Fenris. "I'm sorry, elf."

" _You_ led them here?" Fenris hissed.

"He may have had little choice," a deep voice replied from behind the guards. That voice was engraved in Fenris's memory – a bad dream, every single pang of pain that he had ever felt… That voice had been with him from the moment that he had become aware of what he'd been turned into. "My little Fenris…" Danarius purred.

Memories of nudity that went beyond a lack of clothing returned – he had been stripped bare of his own skin and left to die, alone and naked. Whatever he'd been was no more. The person that had died on that table would never return. He was the man that had come to hate magic, and it had taken the kindness of a mage to make him understand that his hatred was actually fear of the unknown – fear of what he could have been once; fear of those who had wronged him for their own petty reasons. But that was his past. She had forced him to embrace his future. She'd given him a future, and a reminder that he was not alone.

"You've been such a bad boy, my pet," Danarius said slowly, as if he was actually savoring the presence of his former slave. "Finding you was more difficult than I initially thought."

"Apparently, you only needed to ask around," Fenris grunted, looking at Varric resentfully.

"Oh, do not be mad at our stocky friend here," the magister chuckled. "As I said, he didn't have much of a choice." He beckoned and two men dumped Isabela's limp body on a table. She didn't emit a sound, which made Carver's heart sink.

"What have you done?" he boomed, raising his sword.

"The harlot was under the impression that I would give up my ward – a promising young mage that you may or may not remember, dear Fenris." An elven woman stepped forward and walked towards the party standing at the stairs. Her green eyes were cold and sharp as daggers, and her red hair was fiery.

That hair… Images swirled in front of his eyes, blinding Fenris for a brief spell. The memory of a young girl holding onto a woman's hand, watching him unleash his power on his opponents, felling them one by one. Even older images came to him – moments of a life that had belonged to another person, one that he reminded himself once more was no longer him.

"Leto," she called him. His eyes opened wide. "That was your name," she said; "the name that mother gave you."

"It is a name that I was forced to leave behind," he replied.

"Nobody forced you to do so," she scoffed. "You chose to compete for the honor of bearing those marks."

"You lie…" Fenris's voice was little more than a hiss. He lunged forward and caught her by the neck. "Nobody in their right mind would fight for this."

"It was your reward, nevertheless," she spat. "Always wanting to be more than the rest of us… And when you finally managed to make yourself indispensable, you walk out on your life – just like you did on us." Her eyes stared into his, and they seemed to be drinking from them. "You have forgotten so much… You hold me close but you don't even recall my name… Say my name, brother," she taunted him. "Show me how much you remember…"

Fenris found himself complying in spite of himself. "V-Varania…" he stuttered. "Your n-name… S-sister…"

"That's right, big brother…" Her voice was slow and syrupy, and her eyes seemed to envelop him against his will. "Remember our life together in Minrathous? Remember our dear mother?"

"Th-the yard…" Fenris stammered. "Summ-mmer… The sm-smell of m–" He was hit by a blast of spirit energy that cleansed the connection that Varania had been building. She took advantage of his sudden confusion to retreat. Fenris shook his head and through the corner of the eye, he saw Anders – or not: perhaps it was Justice who had freed him after all.

Danarius sighed. "You were doing so well, my dear… I guess that I will have to finish this after all." He walked towards the table where Isabela was lying and produced a shining dagger, made of pure lyrium. "Champion," he said to Carver. "I can sense that you care for this woman. You can have her in exchange for my slave. Consider it a generous offer, since you would be profiting from returning something of my rightful property."

Carver smirked. "How about no?" he asked, wielding his sword confidently.

"Such a pity," Danarius shook his head sadly. He raised the blade and slashed across Isabela's stomach, drawing the blood that he needed to summon his spirits.

Carver was momentarily paralyzed – his immobility was not product of the foul magic that was now invading the place, but the fear of having doomed the person that he'd once considered a friend. He received a blow on the arm that snapped him out of his stupor.

"I will save her!" Anders was shouting. "Go!"

Fenris was aware that it was the moment that he had anticipated and dreaded all along, but he had never thought that he would be losing someone he cared about in such fashion. The sight of Isabela's gaping wound and the blood that poured out of her reminded him of a time in which Irina had received a blow meant for him. Nobody else would fall for him. This would be his battle.

It was impossible to tell if time had actually slowed down or if they were moving faster than they ever had. The air was both thinning and thickening at the same time: Danarius's blood magic was tearing the Veil, and Anders's spirit energy seemed to be bringing the Fade into existence. Fenris could feel both powers tugging at him, and he did the only thing that he could do now. Just as he had been tortured and branded to be an instrument of war, his broadsword had been meant to cut through armor. The realm of magic was no longer his, and he would make do with what he was at the moment.

He saw Keran and Carver putting their Templar talents to good use in their fight against the spirits. Anders was locked in a battle of will with his former master over Isabela, and so Fenris drove his sword through the men that stood between him and Varric just in time to fight a second wave of spirits. He mentally cursed Anders for not having stopped Danarius's blood magic, and the memory of Hadriana's death came back to him. If only he could focus and _disappear_ …

Varric pushed him away to prevent him from being trapped by Varania's ensnaring tendrils. The dwarf shouted something that he didn't quite hear, but it didn't matter anyway, because he knew what he had to do.

The lyrium in his flesh burned him again, but this time he would not flinch. He welcomed the pain because he had learned that it would be the only way to be free. He just had to keep pushing and thinking of them - the woman that he had abandoned, and the child that she had left behind.

He saw Carver's stunned look briefly, and he drifted towards his former master, feeling the Veil and the pull of the Fade more than ever. He caught Danarius by the arm, making the old magister scream with the burn of the spirit energy. Fenris's ghostly hand crawled up Danarius's chest, tearing him from the inside without a drop of blood, until he felt the gargling sound coming from the wicked mage. His fingers wrapped around the magister's heart and held it there – so fragile, so mortal. Had that weakling really haunted him for so long?

Fenris moved his lips near Danarius's ear. "You are no longer my master," he hissed, as his hand crushed the blackened organ and tore it off of the magister's chest. Danarius fell on his knees, stone dead way before reaching the floor.

He felt Irina's voice in his head, telling him to come back to her. He closed his eyes and for a moment he could feel her energy, embracing him like she had done that time. But when he opened his eyes, she was not there, and even though the others were, he felt alone.

Fenris heard Carver asking after Isabela, and Anders working hard to save her from the fate that Danarius had given her for trying to defy him. _What for,_ he wondered as he turned to his sister. All for a woman that was not worth saving. Varric had cornered her and she looked desperate. The dwarf was telling him to take her to the Circle, but all that Fenris could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, and the anger boiling inside in a way that he had thought belonged to another man – the one that he could choose not to be.

Still, he stood in front of her and plunged his sword right through her chest. He watched her collapse, gasping for breath, a thread of blood coming out of her mouth. He wondered if Carver would deem him mad; he'd never be able to kill Irina the way he'd killed his own sister. But he wasn't Carver, and she wasn't Irya, and Fenris wasn't Leto anymore.

The past was finally gone, whatever that meant for his future.

* * *

News of the confrontation at the Hanged Man soon reached Aveline's ears as well as Sebastian's. The Captain of the Guard felt relieved to find out that no civilians had been harmed, and that Isabela was making a slow recovery thanks to Anders.

"Why is it that I can never leave you alone, Hawke?" the redhead sighed. "Wherever you go, you leave a trail of body parts that could get you your own pack of blight wolves."

"It was for a good cause, though," Carver grinned boyishly. "And I know how much you like good causes. You're not really scolding me, are you?"

"I suppose I'm not," Aveline admitted grudgingly. "Anything's better than a blood mage on the loose, even if it's a Tevinter creep."

"I take it this means that Fenris is finally a free man?" Sebastian asked his friend, who nodded.

"As free as he can be. Well, he's a bit bound right now, to be honest. He's been making up for lost time with Sand. I am… a bit jealous, perhaps. But Merrill and I have been talking about it and it might be a good time to adopt a child."

"A good time?" Aveline asked, perplexed. "I trust you have been paying attention to what's been going on between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter?"

"I have. But I have also considered the possibility of leaving Kirkwall."

"No viscountcy, then?" Sebastian wondered. "Are you going back to the Wardens?"

"And more importantly," Aveline interceded, "are you fine with leaving Irina here?"

Carver heaved a deep sigh. Even though Anders had told him not to say anything, he thought that there was nothing wrong in telling his friends, the ones that had fought alongside him many times, about what they were planning to do. He spared the details, but he mentioned the cooperation between Templars and mages to keep the Mage Underground alive. In his eyes, it was a sign of goodwill between those groups that had opposed each other for the longest time.

Aveline voiced her concern, but she admitted that she was tired of the confrontation between the factions and the constant pressure she was under when it came to dealing with the Templar rule over the city. She confessed that she did not approve of the method, but that it was heartbreaking for her to know that Lysander's mother would never be able to hold him otherwise; since Irina had never cause trouble, she limited herself to wishing him the best.

However, Carver failed to notice Sebastian's silence. The prince had always been an observer, and he was accustomed to listening more than doing. He didn't seem to think much of the plan that the apostate and the former slave had been working on, but he maintained his reservations to himself. In his heart, he could understand the fighting spirit, the need for freedom. But freedom could not be attained over the blood of others, and he feared the price that his former companions would have to pay for such freedom.

And so, once he'd left the Estate, his troubled mind led his feet towards the only place where he could find solace, and he found himself at the door of the woman that had always helped him find a better way.

"Your Grace," he said gently as he entered her study room. "I have a confession to make…"

* * *

The idea that had once seemed insane had now become a fully-fledged plan, and the thought of seeing Fenris and their son was the main motivation for her to take part in it. As the days went by and a select group of Templars conveyed her messages from the outside, Irina grew more and more confident that there actually was a way out of that place that would not entail a blood bath.

One afternoon, she was summoned to the office of the Knight-Commander. She saw Orsino's inquiring look from his office as a Templar closed the door behind her, and she found the Grand Cleric there instead of Meredith.

"Sit down, my child," the holy woman said gently. "I believe that there is something we must discuss."

"I do not know what that could be, Your Grace," Irina replied honestly.

Elthina's grey eyes looked at her kindly. "Have you been praying, dear? I remember that you used to come to hear my sermons, and that you always had time to show your appreciation for the Chant."

"I pray every day, Your Grace. We are still allowed to commune in the chapel." She almost wanted to bite her tongue for letting the word 'still' slip out. It was evident that the Grand Cleric had not been oblivious to it.

"I fear that you may have forgotten the Virtues of Our Lady, child. There was a time in which you were willing to do the right thing…" Elthina sighed. Irina looked up and she met the merciful look of the holy woman. In quiet tones, the Grand Cleric started unraveling the knowledge she had of the plan that Anders had woven. Every word that came from those kind-hearted lips burned Irina steadily until she could no longer put up with it. She stood up and covered her mouth with her hand. She was struggling for air, feeling that the chance that they had fought to give her was slowly slipping away. Doing the right thing, honoring the memory of those that had died in the hands of magic, maintaining order in an otherwise chaotic situation… Elthina knew exactly what to tell her to make her hesitate. It was as if the holy woman had rendered her naked, devoid of all artifice, forcing her to face her faith and live up to it.

"I have not talked to the Knight-Commander yet," the Grand Cleric said. "I was hoping that you would reconsider the idea, and that you would help me save some lives." She rested her hand on Irina's shoulder and blessed her quietly. When she left the office, Irina was still standing there, clenching her fists, as if with that gesture she could grasp the possibility that was no longer meant to be.

* * *

When the day came, Fenris and Anders stood together, aided by Varric and Keran. They had discussed Carver's participation in the scheme and they'd deemed it unnecessary. As they waited at the agreed point at the right time, Fenris shuffled his feet nervously.

"Will you keep quiet?" Anders grunted. "I'd like to hear if it's her group that's coming, or if it's someone else."

"I still cannot believe that I am playing along with a plan that _you_ came up with," Fenris muttered. "What did you bring in those bags? Do I even want to know? And why have I listened to you?"

"You do not need to know – your task was to bring them along. And you've been listening to me because that's what your lady love would do," Anders answered. "The same reason why I aided you with Danarius. If it hadn't been for her…"

"Am I supposed to thank you for that?" Fenris asked bitterly.

"You are free to do whatever you want, Fenris," Anders replied. "Wasn't that the point of helping you get rid of your former master? So that you could be free?"

"Is that all that matters to you?" the elf asked after a while. "Freedom?"

"What else is left for me and my kind to want?" the mage murmured, looking away. His ears kept searching for the sound of footsteps that would announce the moment in which his ultimate plan would be carried out. In his mind he could see it clearly – the Gallows was the perfect symbol of oppression, and the fortress that had once housed torture and executions would soon be turned into a flaming beacon of hope for all the other Circle mages.

When they saw the little group approach the meeting point, Fenris and Keran exchanged glances. "Where's Alain?" the former Templar asked one of his brothers.

"He wouldn't leave the Champion's sister," the man replied.

"She was meant to be here too!" Anders exclaimed. "What is the meaning of this?"

"She gave us a letter," the other Templar said, handing Anders a scroll.

"Is she in danger?" Fenris asked, concerned. "Is she ill?"

"The letter will explain," the Templar said. "For now, we need you to take these two away. This one is with child," he said, pointing to a girl who was no older than fourteen years old, "and this one was slated for Tranquility, even though he's passed his Harrowing." The older man looked at them with frightened eyes.

"Come with us," Varric said kindly, reaching out for them.

As the Templars walked away, Anders and Fenris stood together once more, reading the contents of Irina's letter. In it, she asked them for forgiveness, and she declared the self-loathing that she was feeling at the moment, and how much worse she would feel if other people died for her. When the name of the Grand Cleric came up, Anders stopped reading and shoved the parchment away. He paced up and down the area, passing his fingers through his hair. He felt Justice's pull on him, roaring with indignation and disbelief.

"But… How did the Grand Cleric know?" Fenris muttered once he'd finished reading.

"I cannot believe that Carver could have told her!" Anders growled. "It is his sister after all! Never mind me; has _he_ no loyalty?"

Fenris listened to the seething words and an image formed at the back of his mind. "Sebastian…" he whispered.

"What's that?" Anders asked furiously.

"Sebastian," Fenris repeated. "Carver wouldn't do it. He must have told Sebastian. He's the only one that could have told the Grand Cleric…"

Anders took the letter from Fenris. His eyes trailed over the words and the more he read the message, the clearer it became. The naked truth had been staring at him in the face, and he'd been so wrapped up in the affairs of mages and Templars that he'd forgotten who the real puppet masters were.

It was time to have a talk with the Grand Cleric.

...


	21. The Night

"Careful," Merrill murmured as she let Isabela lean on her. "Can you handle it from here?"

"Kitten, I am much better now." Isabela kissed her on the cheek and stood up straight. She walked to the mirror and carefully sat on the bench before it. Even though the wound had been almost too deep, Anders and Merrill had healed her to the point of little scarring. That, together with the proper care given by those who were once again her friends, had made Isabela's recovery rather fast and easy.

"Are you sure? You can take your meal here now, and perhaps come down for dinner?"

"Merrill…" The Rivaini wrinkled her nose. "I am more resilient than you think. My head's been cracked an indecent number of times, I've got far more scars than it's visually attractive… I will survive, trust me. Unless Carver doesn't want me to come down?"

"Oh, no! No worries there," Merrill smiled. "You know what he's like: all barks and snarls, but he truly is a mabari puppy."

Isabela was about to make a comment about Carver's mabari tattoo but she bit her tongue. The past was past, and it had taken her years to understand that not everything was either one thing or the other: there were many shades in between, and friendship and comradery were some of the things that she had learn to value above all.

"Here," Merrill said, tying up her hair with her blue bandana, which was now cleaner than it had been in years. The elf's fingers brushed her hair and she hugged her from behind.

"Never change, kitten," Isabela smiled. A knock on the door took them by surprise. Carver poked his head in, and Inan ran into the room, reaching out for her mother.

"Gamlen wants to know if you're ready, ladies." He watched Isabela stand up slowly. "Feeling better?"

"Much," she replied, adjusting the clothes that Merrill had gotten for her: Carver's breeches, since Irina's were too small for her. "You won't have to put up with me for long," she told him. "I think it's time for me to leave. I should try to find Zevran–"

"Let us not talk about parting ways for the moment," Carver interrupted her awkwardly. "Bodahn and Sandal have just left, and with my sister gone… It's not something that I'd like to discuss."

"It didn't work, did it?" Isabela sighed.

Carver shook his head. "I'm waiting for Sebastian to return to have a word with him, although perhaps I should do it before Fenris finds him."

"Or Anders," Merrill added. "He certainly looked upset. Even Hairbag noticed it and stayed away. I still think that _we_ should go to talk to the Grand Cleric. After all, she was the one who made Irya change her mind."

"And I told you that I want to remain as neutral as possible," her husband sighed. "I really don't need Elthina telling Meredith that we knew about the plan. If Meredith were to come here for you… I don't know what I'd be capable of doing," he said, stroking his wife's cheek.

Isabela looked at them with a pang of envy. Those two worked together much better than any other couple she'd ever known. They had beaten some serious odds, and they'd managed to raise a family. They deserved what they had, and she'd do everything she could so that they'd preserve it.

* * *

It had been such a long day: finishing the arrangement to house the poor in Lowtown, delivering the sermon on patience, making sure that dinner was prepared for Sebastian... The young man had adapted to the simple tastes of the Chantry, but Elthina thought that a prince should have something better.

She knew that Sebastian's devotion would make him a suitable ruler, and she couldn't help but think about how beneficial it would be for Kirkwall to have an ally in Starkhaven. Perhaps then the rumors of disquiet in her term as Head of the Chantry in that part of the Free Marches would be dispelled. Although she missed having the faithful Brother around, she had to think of the greater good.

She was aware that there was someone waiting for her at the pulpit. She brushed the Medallion of Flames with her fingertips and walked up the steps. A young man was standing there. As she moved closer to him, she noticed that he wasn't as young as he'd seemed to be. His face knew of suffering and loss, but at the same time there was a certain aloofness, a detachment that made him seem otherworldly.

"Yes, my child?" she asked quietly. "How can I help you?"

"Grand Cleric." The man's voice was strangely deep. "Can you answer a question?"

"Certainly," she replied, standing in front of him.

"Why do men fear magic? Isn't it a Maker-given gift?"

" _'_ _Magic exists to serve man–'_ " Elthina started to chant, but Anders stopped her.

"I do not seek the answer of the Chant of Light. I wish to receive the answer from a thinking individual. If the Maker had condemned magic, wouldn't he have banished it from the land? Why are there more and more mages born in Thedas every day?"

Elthina sighed. "Sometimes the Maker works in mysterious ways. Perhaps He intended us to endure the burden of magic as a way to deal with obstacles, in order to gain His favor."

"But magic could be no burden. Men make it so. It is people who fear the power within. Magic can heal; it can create. We do not wield this magic like a weapon, at least no more than the Templars wield their swords and raise them against the oppressed."

"The Templars have seen mages succumb to their own weakness. Should they not be wary of the kind of horror that magic can unleash? Lately, their fear has been more than justified. I shall not turn on my Templars or the words of Andraste."

"The Templars… They might be there to watch over us, to protect us from ourselves, and yet, the rate of mortality in the Circle has always been extremely high at the hands of the Order. Your Grace…" Anders stood before her and looked at her in the eye. "Can you honestly support the Rite of Tranquility, or the fact that mages are slaves within the very organization that is supposed to protect them? How can you expect us to be thinking individuals if day after day they take away from us our freedom, our reasoning?"

"The Rite of Tranquility is a sad solution," Elthina admitted. "I wish it would not have to be used, not even as a last resort."

" _'_ _Have to be used'_ you say…" Anders shook his head. "You do not know what it is like… You do not know what it feels like. If it's tranquility or death, mages have no choice but to make every confrontation a life-or-death struggle."

"What Circle do you come from, child?" she asked.

"Ferelden."

"Ah. You will agree with me, then, that some situations cannot be solved any other way. Unfortunate, but necessary."

"Do you think that my experience there has given me the wrong impression? Do you not think that I can see the mages in the Gallows? Families torn apart, people that go missing without explanation; even mages that have passed their Harrowings have been made Tranquil. Is that justice? Isn't it your job to intercede in favor of those who suffer?"

"There are victims on both sides, and I favor peace. As Grand Cleric, it is in the interest of my flock to act in the Maker's time, not in men's."

Anders scoffed. "You have wallowed in indecision for a long time, and you preach patience and tolerance, but when it comes to protecting the reputation of your precious Templars, you jump into action and guilt-trip people into abandoning their dreams of freedom."

"I do not favor chaos. And the fact that you know about that scheme tells me that you are the mage that Sebastian warned me against."

"Oh, that's right. Sebastian, your pet." Anders stepped back. "That was really convenient to you, wasn't it? His becoming a prince… Having the favor of a ruler is always handy. I suppose you are accustomed to the political sphere by now, since your hands have also delved into the last two viscountcies of this city. And wasn't the Knight-Commander handpicked by you? I wonder what the Divine thinks of all this."

"The Divine considers me capable…"

"And are you? Really?" Anders's amber eyes flashed blue. "Are you worthy of your flock? Are you unable to see that Meredith's rule is slowly killing the faith of those who have families in the Circle? Are they not part of your flock, Grand Cleric?"

"Your Grace?" Sebastian's voice took Elthina by surprise. He was watching Anders closely. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Sebastian," she replied quietly. "I believe that we had just finished our conversation." She looked at Anders. "Your soul is troubled, child. Perhaps you should move closer to the Flame and let Its warmth enkindle your spirit."

Anders gave her a half-smile and bowed silently. As he made his way down the corridor, he heard footsteps behind him.

"Anders!" Sebastian called him. The mage turned to face him. "I know what you intended to do. I have no shame in admitting that I was the one who told Elthina about your plan. I do not understand why you will not accept that sometimes it is best to stand back and trust that the Maker will eventually step in."

Anders smirked. "The Maker left us to our devices a long time ago. He's never going to step back in, Sebastian."

The prince stared at the mage and moved closer to him. "Listen to me: if you go on with these ridiculous attempts to breed chaos, the Chantry will respond."

"At least they will be moved into action," Anders replied.

"They will kill you." He grabbed Anders by the arm. "And if something happens to Elthina, _I_ will kill you."

The mage removed his arm from the prince's grasp slowly. His amber-blue eyes pierced through Sebastian's bright blue ones, and without another word, he turned around and left.

* * *

Irina was getting undressed when her door burst open, slamming against the wall. She covered herself as fast as she could and watched the Templar that stood in front of her.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, agitated.

"You will be moved to the dungeons for the rest of the evening. An interrogation is under way." The Templar watched her tie up the laces of her robe. "No mage on this floor is to remain in their cell."

"But why? Has something happened?"

"You are not to question the command, only to comply."

In spite of the warning, Irina couldn't help herself. "But why interrogate us in the dungeons? And at this time of the evening?" Surely the Knight-Commander–" Her face was crossed by the gauntleted hand of the Templar, making her feel the taste of blood.

"Move! _Now!"_

She covered her cheek with her hand. Trembling, she walked out of her cell and joined the others, who appeared to be as confused as she was. Only then did she realize how their numbers seemed to have waned in the last month. As she descended, she regretted not having escaped when she'd had the chance.

She caught sight of familiar faces – some of them she had learned to stay away; some others, she knew that she could trust. She got a glimpse of Alain before a Templar closed the door of a holding cell behind him. Orsino was nowhere to be seen. She wondered if he had already been locked away. A scream coming from one of the closed cells –the one where she had given birth– startled her. So that was why they were there: to hear; to witness the kind of punishment that they would face if they turned to blood magic.

"They're going too far…" Irina muttered, as she walked into a cell and heard the door being locked behind her.

* * *

"I've never liked Elthina," Aveline said, feeling the aftertaste of the spiced wine that Varric had poured for her. "You know what she said to us once? Carver, do you remember when you asked her about the Blight?"

"Don't remind me," Carver groaned. "Something about thanking the Maker for having stepped in. Isabela remembers that line much better, you should ask her..."

"I asked her once why the mages were kept in the Gallows…" the redhead said.

"Even _I_ know that one," Fenris muttered. "Probably to break the spirit of the mages…"

"Wrong! She said, _'It was a building; a large one, and it was empty.'_ " Aveline scoffed. "I sometimes understand why Anders gets so mad at her."

"Normally, this is the time when I would say something nice about the Chantry," Carver sighed. "But after what happened with Irina…"

"You've never been devoted anyway. At least not like your sister," Varric noted.

"I only hoped that the scheme would work," Fenris admitted. "But if it had been planned by Anders…"

"Still holding some kind of grudge?" Carver asked, staring at the contents of his goblet. "Is it because it failed or because you don't really like him?"

"Which would be funny, because I think they're more similar than they say they are," Varric chuckled. "Remember when you used to ramble about magisters and slaves and blood magic?"

"He even used to foam at the mouth," Carver smirked.

"And then he met little Irina," Aveline pointed out.

"And oh, how the sparks flew about!" Varric said dramatically.

"Very funny, all of you," Fenris droned. Still, he couldn't help but spare a thought for the man that he'd once been, and the woman that had changed him. He wondered what it would have been like if she had been less vulnerable, less fearful. She was no longer that girl either. He leaned against the banister and watched the group of friends talking. He wished that she were there, unburdened and free. At the moment he didn't know when he would see her again, but he dared hope that it would be soon.

* * *

"Walk with me," Orsino muttered in Irina's ear one afternoon. "Do not look back. We are going for a stroll around Hightown."

"I feel like asking if we can do that," Irina murmured, her eyes lowered and her steps swift and light.

"I no longer know," the First Enchanter replied. "And would you like to know something? I think I no longer care." They crossed the courtyard towards the docking area. The Templars that were in charge of the sector nodded at Orsino surreptitiously.

"Is this about what happened the other night?"

Orsino's lips tightened. "That was the last straw. Our isolation here means that the people in the city have no idea what is happening with us. And _she_ knows that she has no right to treat us like this. So I'm going to get support from her immediate superior."

"The Grand Cleric?"

"Indeed." He helped her onto the boat. "Reasoning with Meredith has become extremely hard these days."

"But… There is some truth in what she says." Irina's grey eyes searched for his. "There is a group that delved into blood magic. At least, they did so."

Orsino sighed and sat down next to her. He looked exhausted. "I cannot admit that now. If I hand them over, I might as well condemn us all. She will have cause to ask for the Right of Annulment, and then? What will the other Circles do?"

"I understand that the situation is fragile at the moment, but Orsino… I do not think that Elthina will want to choose a side."

"That's what I fear," Orsino replied wearily. "And that's why I need your brother's support."

* * *

"He did _what?"_ Meredith boomed.

"The First Enchanter has just left for the city," the Tranquil repeated.

"I cannot believe this… Was he on his own?"

"There was a young lady with him. Brown hair, slim. She looked concerned."

Meredith banged her fist on the desk. "Karras!" she shouted. The Templar that was always guarding her door entered the office. "See if the Champion's sister is in her cell!"

The Templar nodded and walked out of the room. Meredith dismissed the Tranquil and stared at the floor. _That mage…_ He'd become a thorn in her side. Always questioning, always inciting rebellion… This latest escapade of his confirmed what she'd been suspecting for some time: Orsino was bent on sedition. But she would not have it. She would not allow it.

She opened the drawer and took out the draft that she'd started not long ago; a request, a plea addressed to the Grand Cleric, for the final solution to the problem that should not keep growing.

"Knight-Commander?" Ser Karras called her. "She's gone. The girl is gone."

Meredith finished writing the note and stashed the parchment in her pouch. If Elthina refused to openly side with the Order, then she would write to the Divine. Someone would have to listen to her. "Ready the boat. We are off to see the Grand Cleric."

* * *

As they walked across Lowtown, Varric caught sight of the First Enchanter and his ward. As soon as he greeted Irina, he realized that things were more serious than he had thought. Irina explained Orsino's initiative and the dwarf found himself filled with a sense of foreboding that was even worse than the one he'd had during the expedition.

"Princess… Why don't you let the First Enchanter go to see the Grand Cleric alone?" he asked. "You can wait for him at the estate…"

"We came here to seek the Champion's aid," Orsino replied in her stead. "The Grand Cleric will hear about what's been happening at the Gallows, but it is imperative that the Champion, as protector of this city, have his say."

"So… Will you stop by at your place, at least? To see… You know… The _family?"_ Varric's warm eyes were looking at her intently.

Irina gave him a weak smile. "I always thought that it would be best not to do such things. But I think I would like that."

"Then, make a quick stop now, before something – _anything_ – happens. Please…" The dwarf spoke with unusual warmth as he tugged at her hand.

Irina cast a quick look at Orsino, who nodded. "In any case, we were going to stop at your brother's home."

The knot in her stomach intensified. Irina vaguely heard Orsino and Varric talking. She looked around. The city hadn't changed, except for the fact that there were fewer people on the streets. As far as she remembered, that was the night in Kirkwall – men and women going back to the safety of their homes, or their places of preference. The merchants who had stalls at the passageway between Lowtown and Hightown were already putting their wares away. Some of them watched them with curiosity, surprised to see a well-dressed elf followed by a robed woman.

As they climbed the steps towards Hightown, Irina looked back. She could get a good view of the Gallows from here, and from a distance the place seemed more inhospitable than ever. A set of sails caught her attention; bearing the symbol of the Order, a cog had just docked. She turned to the First Enchanter. "Their boat. They're already here," she let him know.

Orsino frowned. "Then let us hurry."

They quickened their pace as they walked along the streets of Hightown. Nothing had changed, and yet, it seemed to be a different city. Before they knew it, they found themselves at the door of the estate.

Varric knocked on the door and was greeted by Macha, whose eyes opened wide when she saw Irina. The two women hugged each other in silence. Orsino smiled at them, oblivious to the reason that had brought them together.

"If possible, I'd like to have a word with the Champion," the mage requested.

"Certainly," Macha replied. "Follow me."

"Princess?" Varric called her softly when he noticed that she was rooted to the ground.

"You… go ahead. I need a moment," she told him. She'd barely had time to see him disappear into the main hall when her eyes welled up with tears. She felt her heart beating fast at the thought of the people she loved the most being so close. Would she be able to detach herself from them if she took that step towards the other room? How would she endure the separation afterwards? She felt like a coward, always shunning away from what she wanted…

She heard swift footsteps dashing towards where she was, and she saw his silhouette against the warm light of the fireplace. She didn't need to see his face to know that he'd been waiting for her. His hands were running down her arms, cupping her face, holding her close, and she let down her guard and held him as well.

"We have to run away," Fenris whispered in her ear as his lips kissed her cheek gently. He caught her by the chin and stared into her eyes. " _Now._ This is the only chance that we'll have."

"I can't leave Orsino," she murmured numbly. "He brought me with a purpose. Meredith is coming. If she finds him on his own…"

"Your brother is with him. That was the purpose. He is _not_ your responsibility, Irya." He noticed a flash of resignation in her eyes and he scoffed. "You won't do it, will you? You will not turn away from your duty. Not even for us."

"You don't understand…" she whispered. "You don't know what she's capable of… Things are far more serious than they look…" She was aware that there was someone else standing nearby. Carver opened his arms and Irina ran to him. She received her brother's kiss on the forehead. Protected – she felt sheltered, as if nothing had ever happened; as if there were no concerns or pressing matters outside that house.

"I've talked to Orsino," Carver said calmly. "I have agreed to have a word with Elthina, even though after what happened with you…"

"Never mind that," Irina shook her head. "Are you sure?"

"How could I not do this, when my own sister is the one enduring that kind of treatment every day?"

"I'd suggest we get going, Champion," Orsino said seriously. Carver nodded.

As they were crossing the square towards the Chantry district, they encountered Meredith talking to Sebastian. She was escorted by a small group of Templars. As soon as she saw him, the Knight-Commander dashed towards the First Enchanter. _"You…"_ she hissed. "When we return to the Gallows, there will be changes. You have brought this onto yourself, Orsino."

"Am I to be punished for leaving the Gallows? Are you admitting in front of these people," he shouted, "that you are using the place as a prison?" There were murmurs around them. More and more people had started to appear, drawn by the sight of the Templars.

"I am protecting both the people from this city and you mages from yourselves!" she yelled. "Do you know what could happen if we stopped being vigilant? Will you only see the danger that magic poses when you stop to count the corpses around you?"

"Can't you see that it is this insanity of yours that's driven more mages crazy than any kind of foul magic?" Orsino's voice sounded strained.

"You refuse to understand the seriousness of the situation!"

"Then help us understand, Meredith," Carver interceded. "Why isolate the mages even further? Isn't it enough that they can't live with their families any longer? Do they also need to be locked up?"

"You are biased, Champion," Meredith said, shaking her head. "I cannot take your arguments seriously when your own sister is in the middle-"

"It is precisely because of that that I can speak," Carver replied. "Not only for me, but also as a representative of the people of Kirkwall who know what it means to be apart from their loved ones."

"Hear, hear!" a voice said, coming from the crowd that had gathered around them. Carver looked around and saw many familiar faces supporting him. As his eyes searched around, he saw that Aveline had come down the steps from the barracks, and a group of guardsmen were watching the scene carefully. Irina tugged at his sleeve and pointed to the balcony of the estate: Merrill, Isabela, and Varric were watching from above.

"It is so easy… It must look so simple from the outside," Meredith said in a low voice. "But unless you have a better option, unless you can ensure the safety of the people of this city, do not make me the villain of the story. All I have done is react to the circumstances…"

Orsino scoffed. "This is getting us nowhere. Champion, _please…_ Let us talk to the Grand–"

"Oh no," Meredith interrupted. " _I_ will be speaking to Her Grace."

"Nobody will be speaking to the Grand Cleric," Anders said out loud. "Not anymore."

"What is that supposed to mean, _mage?"_ Meredith spat.

"The talking has already been done; there are no more words to be said. Both of you have exhausted the time to reach a compromise. And now…" He stood in front of them. "Now it is too late. I couldn't… I could not spend another day seeing how the Order treats all mages like slaves or abominations waiting to happen, or how the Circle has lost its purpose."

"How _dare_ you–?" Orsino started to say, but he was startled by Anders's sudden outburst.

"You were supposed to protect them – not coddle or indulge them! Instruct them! _Magic exists to serve man!_ The Circle has failed us, Orsino!"

Irina recognized Justice speaking through Anders. She took a step forward and rested her hand on his arm, but this time Anders didn't turn to her.

"It is time to take action," he stated. "It is time to rise. No more stalling. No more shades…"

"Anders..." she called softly. "What are you talking about?"

Anders's amber eyes finally landed on her. His lips tried to smile, but they trembled and failed. "There can be no turning back," he muttered, and he hit his staff on the ground.

A deep rumble seemed to come from underneath, shaking the ground and spreading around. Most of the people were silently disoriented until they saw the red blaze that enveloped the building of the Chantry. That was the moment when they ran away in panic. The screaming that followed would be engraved in everybody's minds for the rest of their lives.

For Carver and Fenris, the red flare and the tremor of the ground beneath them brought back memories of the Deep Roads – the word 'danger' flashed before their eyes, but they stood there. Fenris caught sight of Sebastian's consternation and for the briefest of moments, he felt sorry for the prince. His green eyes landed on Irina, whose pale hand was covering her mouth. There were tears in her eyes as the falling embers of what had once been the Chantry of Kirkwall started descending on them.

"There can be no peace," Anders whispered.

The sound of a wounded heart shook them. Sebastian had fallen on his knees, crying over the fate of the woman that had aided him in his hour of need. He was the only one that had reacted to the loss of the Grand Cleric. The few that were left there were still trying to make sense of what had happened.

"How _could_ you…" Irina murmured numbly. She turned to him, her face contorted in grief. "How could you do that? _You!_ You were my friend! And now…!" She took a step back. "Who are you? I don't think I know you… Not anymore…"

Fenris held her by the hand and she buried her face in his chest, still crying.

"Why would you do that?" Orsino asked, bewildered.

"Because there was no compromise. Because it was time to make a choice. Because I would have burned down the Gallows if I'd thought that someone I cared for would be safe," Anders replied wearily. "Because someone had to start the fire."

"The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic," Meredith said slowly. "This cannot be ignored. I have no other choice but to invoke the Right of Annulment–"

"What?" Orsino interrupted her. "What does the Circle have to do with this? Champion, surely you cannot allow this!"

"Of course I won't!" Carver barked. "What madness is this, Knight-Commander?"

"Why kill all the mages," Sebastian muttered from behind, "when the monster who did this is standing right there?" He took out his knife and lunged against Anders, but Carver stood between them.

"Stand back!" he commanded.

"Not even in the name of our friendship, Hawke," Sebastian replied, pushing Carver away. Fenris let go of Irina and put his hand firmly on Sebastian's arm.

"Stand back," he grunted.

"Will you stand against us, Champion?" Meredith said derisively. "Is that your final word? Because if you stand by them, you will share their fate."

Carver stared at the Knight-Commander with his ocean-blue eyes. "I can live with that," he muttered.

Meredith gave him one last look before she turned around and shouted to the Templars, "Get back to the boat!" She walked away, leaving the others behind.

"Aveline," Carver called his friend.

"No, Hawke. You cannot ask me to fight by your side this time." The Captain looked miserable.

"I know better than to do that, my friend," Carver smiled wistfully. "I will only ask you to ensure a fair fight. The Knight-Commander has to respect your authority. Get to the Gallows, and wait there till I arrive. First, I... I would like to say goodbye to my family."

Aveline's emerald eyes gazed at him. She nodded silently and patted him on the back before giving orders to her guardsmen. Carver watched her leave and took a deep breath.

"So, it has come to this…" Orsino murmured. "One way or another, this will be over tonight." He looked askance at Anders. "What… What will happen to your friend? Will you hand him over to the Guard? Get some justice that way?" He frowned when Anders snorted bitterly.

Carver stood in front of Anders. "Was this your plan all along?" he asked, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. "Is that why you wanted my sister out of the Gallows?"

"I wouldn't have harmed her," Anders replied. "Not her. But I didn't do this for her. The world needed to see… And if I must pay… The value of my life will never be enough to pay for this. Nothing I say or do will remedy this."

Carver sighed, much to Sebastian's dismay. "Do you really not know how to deal with this mage, Hawke? I thought you better than this…"

"Shut up," Fenris grunted. He snatched the knife from Sebastian's hand and pushed him away. He held the blade in his hand, feeling its weight. Such a light thing and yet, it felt so heavy. "Anders," he called. "Look at me."

"Fenris?" Irina's voice trembled.

"Please… Look away, Irya," he asked her.

"Fenris, please…" She covered her mouth with both hands.

"Carver…" Fenris said.

Irina's brother gave one last look at Anders as he walked past him. He wrapped his arms around his sister, who was crying silently once more.

Fenris crossed the distance that separated him from Anders and looked at him in the eye. He'd once thought it would be so easy… And yet, there he was, standing in front of the man that had helped his mage in so many ways…

"Fenris," Anders said softly. "Please…"

Fenris's body shook slightly when he sank the blade into Anders's body. He felt the mage convulsing briefly and the elf could have sworn that he'd heard a soft whisper before the body slumped to the ground.

_Thank you._

* * *

"Isabela!" Carver shouted. "Where are you?"

"Right here," the Rivaini answered from the upper floor.

"I need you to do me a favor." Carver looked up at the woman, who was now leaning against the banister. "I need you to take them all away from here. The children, Gamlen, the women – everyone."

"I'm one step ahead of you, Hawke," Isabela smiled. "We've already gathered the necessities, though there is a slight problem."

"Another problem? Wonderful," Carver said sarcastically. He saw Merrill coming down the stairs, wearing her old Dalish armor, which fitted her exactly like it used to when they'd first met. The elf was holding Inan in her arms.

"Give Papa a kiss, my dear," Merrill said, snuggling her daughter. "And remember what I said about being a good girl."

Carver raised his eyebrows. "No. You are not coming with me."

"You are crazy if you think that I will let you go alone," Merrill hissed.

"I won't be alone. The mages–"

"Are you listening to what you're saying?" Merrill interrupted him. "Whatever happens… I want to be with you, Carver." Her eyes filled with tears. "I already lost you once. I don't want that to happen again."

Irina saw her brother hug his family and she had to look away. Her eyes landed on Gamlen, who was holding a dark-haired boy with grey eyes.

"Look who's here," the old man said to the child, who looked at his mother bashfully.

Irina felt as if the world had stopped; as if the lights had disappeared around her, leaving her only with that beacon in the form of a child. She was barely aware that Fenris had taken him in his arms and that he was saying something. Her senses became numb, and she could only feel her own heartbeat, her own breathing, just like the last time that she had held him in her arms.

"… Mama," Fenris was saying to Lysander, who was watching her with curiosity. "Here, hold him," the elf told her.

Irina blinked. "I… I don't…"

"You will learn," Fenris reassured her as he left the child in her arms.

His weight, his warmth, his smell… Every part of her body recognized the child as part of her, but also as a part of Fenris. She gazed at him, fascinated, as he looked back at her. His chubby hand stroked her cheek and her lips when she let out a soft sigh. He smiled at her and the rest of the world simply vanished.

A child's cry brought her back to reality. Isabela was holding Inan, who was reaching out for her mother.

 _"Dareth shiral, da'len,"_ Merrill whispered, as Carver led her away, followed by Varric and Sebastian.

Irina looked at her niece, and then she looked back at her son. Lysander was still exploring his mother's face when she turned to Fenris. Her eyes spoke to him without words, and he understood that she wouldn't be able to leave.

"Are you sure, my love?" he asked her, standing by her side.

Irina nodded silently and kissed her child on the forehead. Fenris took him from her arms and left him under Gamlen's care. He turned to Isabela and said, "You know what to do."

"I always do, my friend," the pirate replied.

Fenris grabbed his sword and stared at Irina. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Irina replied without hesitation. How could she let her brother fight her battle? How could she go away and live when the one that had protected her all her life might be torn apart from his own child for good?

Fenris took her by the hand and kissed her fingers. "Stay close to me. I don't want you out of my sight. Never again, do you hear me?" He felt her hand stroking his cheek and her lips covering his. He held her tight, close to his heart. "We are in this together, Irya."

"Always," she said, as she held him by the hand and led him out of the house, into the night.

...


	22. Epilogue: Fade Away

_"_ _Where is she?!" Blood was trickling down from a nasty cut on his brow and he wiped it with the back of his hand.  
His own voice trembled. "I'm… so sorry… The Templars took her…"  
_ _"_ _No…"  
He'd never forget the pain in that voice.  
_ _"_ _No, no, NO!"_

_**…** _

His eyes shot open and he pressed his hand against his chest. A dream? No, a memory. His heart was beating faster than normal. He looked around and found himself alone. He listened for voices, but there was no sound to be heard other than the occasional bird chirruping.

Fenris took his long shirt from the chair and stepped into the kitchen. The air was filled with the scent of embrium tea and honey. The days were warmer now, but there was still a small fire burning at all times. You could never really do without it in Ferelden; no matter how hot it was outside, no wall or cover was enough to keep the cold away.

He looked out of the window and saw Inan and Sand quietly searching for the colored pebbles that Irina scattered in the garden every night. A half-smile appeared on his lips. His son had just left a handful of painted stones in the bucket and was now helping his cousin to find the ones that she was missing.

Fenris sheltered his eyes from the morning sun and walked out of the cottage. His bare feet felt the slightly dewed grass and he shivered. The City of Amaranthine was certainly quiet; even the usually rough Waking Sea appeared to be docile that day. He looked around for his wife and found her standing near the road. Irina always seemed to be invisible to anyone who passed by, unless they were specifically looking for her. He strode down the path and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked quietly.

"As usual," he replied honestly, feeling the scent of flowers and herbs in her hair. At times, that smell reminded him of the clinic in Darktown and the amber-eyed mage that had changed their lives – whether it had been for better or for worse, he was still unsure. He buried his nose in her hair and kissed the beauty spot on the base of her neck. He felt her hand reaching back to stroke his cheek and he sighed.

Irina had never fully recovered from the slaughter that had taken place at the Gallows. She hardly used her magic anymore, unless it was to calm down children when their parents brought them to the shop that they had set up. She healed them with balms, ointments, and the occasional poultice, but she kept her magic to herself. Once or twice Fenris had brought up Anders's name, but she had winced and refused to speak. Fenris didn't need her to say anything, but he knew that the memory of the mage would always be an open wound between them, no matter how much she loved him. It had been his hand that had struck Anders down, and even though his intentions had been honest, he knew that Irina would never forget it. Forgive, yes. Forget, never.

"He promised he'd be here today," she said quietly. "I told Inan they'd be here."

"Is it wise?" Fenris asked. "Perhaps it's still too early…"

"I've spoken to her at length," Irina replied, turning around and resting her arms on her husband's chest. "She's a smart girl." She kissed him softly and hugged him. He could feel that even if she was relaxed in his arms, her eyes were following the children, who were now pulling weeds out of the ground.

"Someone's coming," Fenris told her. Both of them stepped out to the road to greet Carver and Merrill, who had ridden from Vigil's Keep. The former Champion of Kirkwall helped his wife get off the horse and Fenris led the mounts to the water trough.

"Brother..." Irina hugged Carver, whose arms were as strong as ever. She turned to Merrill and kissed her on both cheeks. "How are you, dear?"

"Very well, thank you," the elf replied. She looked past Irina and saw Inan. The girl was watching her parents shyly, and she gave a quick look at her aunt.

"It's alright, darling," Carver encouraged her. "It's just us."

Inan ran into her father's arms; he held her up effortlessly and covered her with kisses. Carver beckoned Sand, who was gazing at his uncle with devotion, and when the boy trotted to him, Carver picked him up as well. The three of them started singing in merriment as they played in the garden. Irina smiled as she held Merrill by the arm and walked with her towards the cottage. She told her that Inan had started reading and writing, and how much the girl loved Sand. Merrill's subtle smile didn't change in the least as she told Irina about a list of texts that she could borrow from the library of the Keep.

"Dada!" Sand called Fenris. "Papa gave me this," he beamed, as he showed his father a patch embroidered with the heraldry of the Grey Wardens.

"Look at that. Perhaps we could use it on that shield we've been working on?" Fenris ventured, and his son grinned.

"Can I show it to Papa? Please?"

"Fetch it," Fenris nodded. Inan took the younger child by the hand: as they were about to walk away, Carver called after her.

"Why don't you pick up some daisies for Mama? She can teach you how to make a Dalish wreath…"

The hesitation in the girl's eyes was evident. She looked at Fenris. "Dada?"

"You can pick up some flowers from the back," he told her.

As they watched the children skip away, Carver sighed. His blue eyes looked tired, and his hair sported a new silver streak that Fenris hadn't noticed before. "She is happy here," the Warden said.

"Very," Fenris reassured him. "She no longer cries in her sleep."

"That's good," Carver nodded vaguely. "That's good…" His voice was softer than it had ever been.

"Is there something troubling you?" the elf asked.

Carver took a deep breath. "There's been talk of a journey… Orlais. The Western Approach. Not an easy place." He looked at Fenris. "I'm afraid I won't be able to take Merrill with me. I doubt she would notice I'm gone, anyway."

"Irina always says that Merrill knows everything," Fenris told him, "that she notices everything. How could she ignore your absence?"

Carver shrugged and walked towards the house. "I don't understand it. I've never had the head for those things. Anders would know…" He snorted. "That bastard..." he said without malice. "Even though he's been gone for three years now… Do you ever dream about that, Fenris? That red sky? Was it worth it? All of it?"

"I sometimes wonder that myself," Fenris replied. "So much was lost that day. And then I look around and see your sister walking in the sun, free… And those who know what she is have not looked down on her or alienated her, and I think that perhaps _he_ was not that wrong after all…"

Carver chuckled. "Ah, Varric would say, _'See? I told you those two were more similar than they thought!'_ "

Fenris smirked. "Have you heard from him?"

"The last time I was in Denerim I heard that he'd just left for Kirkwall. Makes knows what he'll be doing there. That city was cursed a long time ago, and nothing good can come out of it. I received a letter from Sebastian, mentioning that Starkhaven was now the jewel of the Free Marches, but…" Carver shrugged. "I no longer care." He opened the door and found Merrill helping Irina in the kitchen. "Inan is picking up flowers…" he told his wife. "I told her that you'd teach her how to make a Dalish wreath."

"I have not made one in a long time," the elf replied. "But I still remember how it is done."

As they sat around the table and shared an early lunch, Inan recited a poem that she had written about the time when she had sailed on a ship. Carver listened to her and stroked her hair. The girl's green eyes looked at him adoringly, but when he mentioned the making of the head wreath, her smile disappeared.

"I don't know if I can…" she excused herself weakly.

"It is not difficult," Merrill said. "I can show you." Her graceful fingers emptied the basket where Inan was keeping the flowers. "Something supportive must be used…" Merrill stated.

"Here," Irina said, giving her some braids of hay that she had woven the night before.

"Thank you," Merrill replied. She went on to explain to Inan how to work with the stem of the flowers so that they would form a seamless chain, and the girl's delicate fingers imitated her mother's movements with a skill that she could only have acquired from the elves.

Irina sat down and Sand climbed over her lap, telling his mother about his new acquisition, and she nodded distractedly as she sipped her tea.

"Are you feeling well, Irya?" Carver asked.

"I am a little tired," she said, her eyes wandering over Merrill and Inan. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"She is with child," Merrill stated, as her eyes supervised her daughter's work. Fenris raised his eyebrows and looked at his wife. Irina was as stunned as he was.

"I don't know if that's true," she finally admitted.

"But you suspected?" Fenris asked, reaching out for her hand.

She shook her head. "Macha was the one who told me that I was pregnant with Sand," she murmured. "It seems I really cannot tell when these things happen… But how would you know?" she asked Merrill.

"The house smells of lavender," the elf pointed out. "And so do you. You have been using it for your baths. There is a plentiful supply of dandelion in your cupboard and you slipped some in your tea only. Your breasts look bigger, your skin is glowing… I may be wrong, but I do not think I am."

"I guess time will tell," Fenris murmured, still watching Irina. He wondered if it was possible that neither of them had noticed what Merrill had just mentioned. For him, Irina was always glowing, and she always smelled of flowers. Part of him was still amazed at the thought of living that kind of adventure: the runaway elf had found his place in the world. No more thoughts of ending his life at the hands of the magisters, or fighting his way through hordes of marks and foes. No more loneliness, and no more pain. For a warrior, his new life could be too simple. But whatever he had been, he was no more.

"Well, do keep me posted, you two, should that be true," Carver smiled. Irina pressed her brother's hand warmly.

"I've finished!" Inan announced, receiving a chorus of approval from her family. She held the daisy crown in her hands and looked at her mother hesitantly. "I… made it for you. Do you like it?"

"It is very agreeable," Merrill replied.

"Can I put it on you?" Inan asked, searching for a glimpse of the old Merrill in her mother's eyes.

"If it pleases you," the elf replied, and bowed her head.

Inan carefully rested the daisy wreath on her mother's head. Her fingers adjusted the crown so that the most beautiful daisy would cover the burning sun that had been branded on her mother's forehead the night that the Templars had made her Tranquil.

"Does it look fine?" Merrill asked the girl, who nodded. "Then why are you crying?"

Inan gasped, quickly wiping the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. She mustered a smile and murmured, "Because you are beautiful, Mama."

"Thank you," Merrill replied, turning around to put away the rest of the flowers.

* * *

As they waved the Warden and his wife goodbye, Irina rested her hand on her niece's shoulder. Inan's trial by fire -her meeting with a mother that did not remember her warmth- was over, and she was proud of the girl.

She gazed at Fenris, who was holding their child in his arms, and she felt grateful for having had a second chance with them. She felt her husband's eyes on her and she leaned her head on his shoulder. His arm circled her waist and she felt that after all, they might be able to lead a good life. As long as they were together, anything was possible.

.

**The End**

.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from the song "Silver Blue" by Roxette. Every chapter will be named after some words in each of the lines of the song. I think this is actually the first time that I've written some in-game Fenris, and to be honest, I'm doing it mostly to connect with the character.
> 
> If you're reading this, thank you for spending some time here!


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